


A Brutal Teacher

by Boomchick



Category: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Abuse, Afterlife, Amputation, Brothers, Gen, Human Experimentation, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Mental Health Issues, Mild Gore, Past Character Death, Rape/Non-con References, Sexual Violence, Temporary Character Death, Torture, Violence, child endangerment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 00:04:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 35
Words: 189,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boomchick/pseuds/Boomchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loz woke up as a seven year old child. Yazoo woke up blind and surrounded by enemies. Both were fully aware of the fact that they were dead. With Kadaj saved by Aerith, what happened to the two remnants of Sephiroth who weren't forgiven?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello, to all you wonderful people out there in world. Boomchick here, with yet another foray into my latest addiction: FFVII. This one will be following canon as closely as possible up until the end of Advent Children Complete.  
> This is something new for me, so I hope all of you will let it fire with the remarks, guesses, comebacks, complaints, and, of course, compliments. Enjoy it! First chapter will be a little introspective intensive. I'm afraid it's a flaw of mine, but I hope you'll all stick with me to chapter two!
> 
> Warnings: Excessive violence, character death (only cannon ones,) and slight liberties taken with said dead characters. Enjoy! xoxoxo
> 
> UPDATE: Now edited by my fantabulous beta reader Annegwish! You have her to thank for the grammar.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own FFVII or any of the derivative works!

A Brutal Teacher

> Experience is a brutal teacher, but you learn. My God do you learn. - C.S. Lewis

**Yazoo**

When Yazoo died, it was the first time he could remember ever being alone. He called to his brothers almost reflexively the moment he recalled how to speak. To Loz, who must have died beside him, who was no doubt crying like a damned coward. To his little angel, their guide and savior, who had led them so far only to die at the hands of that false brother. That Strife.

They didn't answer the call. There was no frighteningly fearsome snap from Kadaj, furious at being looked after, as always. No surreptitious sniffle from Loz to lead them into their age old argument.

"Don't cry, Loz," Yazoo would say, his voice teasing and his words sincere.

"I'm not crying," Loz would argue before Kadaj would interrupt them repressively with a mad laugh tinting his voice, but mother spurring him ever onwards.

And of course, that was why Kadaj wasn't here. He'd been... saved. Or redeemed. Stolen. Yazoo felt his lip curl at the thought of the airy voice that had called to him. So unlike their mother's strong, willful call, that the youngest of them had heard for so long. It had pained him sometimes. Had pained all of them once or twice. Yazoo remembered vaguely pain so great he thought his head would split open, and screaming until he no longer could. Remembered watching both his brothers do the same. The memory of that pain, which mother had always threatened them with, should they refuse to do as she wished, was surprisingly distant.

It took Yazoo a moment to realize it was because he was dead. Truly and thoroughly dead. Blown to pieces in his own rage, his brother at his heels and the so called 'black sheep'... well, at least he could relax knowing he'd taken Cloud Strife to the life stream with them. If he was in the life stream. If Loz was. Kadaj would be, of course, because Kadaj was special, but Loz and Yazoo... Side projects at best. Why mother bothered sending them at all was something of a mystery. In the end, it proved more than they could do to destroy two lousy Turks. At least they had been the ones to kill Strife. Surely mother would be pleased.

It was then that it dawned on the silver haired boy what was so different about death. It was silent. Utterly silent. Not just of the constant noise of his elder brother, and the eerie ranting of his younger. Jenova was not speaking. A pressure in his mind he had never been aware of—had been born with- was gone. He was empty, like a marionette whose strings were burned away.

"Mother," He called into the nothing, his voice petering out the moment the words breathed from between his lips.

There was no reply to his plaintive call. The empty, blank world around him remained unaltered, and no note of mother's beautiful, dark voice touched him. It made him feel exposed and alone. He drew in breath to call out again.

"Little bastard," hissed a voice to his right, straight from the empty air.

Yazoo jumped and whirled, hand flying to his hip, only to discover that Velvet Nightmare was gone. There was nothing where the voice had come from but more of the blinding white emptiness.

"You killed us, and call for your mother?" another voice said from behind him, so very much closer.

Yazoo whirled again, seeing nothing, but feeling the breath of the speaker on the back of his neck, lingering like a stain on his skin.

"Look at him. So little soul he's barely even here," a third spoke, and this time Yazoo felt a hand shove him lightly.

He struck back, his hand only waving through thin air. A rumble of laughter sounded around him, far more than three voices caught up in the amusement. He whirled, his heart in his throat, and a tightening feeling in his chest. He was surrounded, and defenseless, and the thought chilled him. It took him a very long time to understand that he was feeling actual fear.

By the time he had figured it out, the invisible ones were holding him to the ground, and taking turns kicking. His scream barely left his lips, but as they had said, what soul he had was very small, and very weak. For the first time in his brief life, Yazoo feared not for his brothers. He wasn't afraid of his mother's pain and wrath, or the memories of Sephiroth which sometimes rose to blind him and his siblings.

As the blows rained down on his chest, and ribs, and stomach, and groin, Yazoo feared for his life. He tried to scream, knowing full well that no one was left to save him from the souls he had helped his mother corrupt and steal.

**Loz**

Loz came to himself under very, very different circumstances but he felt no less out of place.

"Hey, look, he's wakin' up," one voice said, very close to his ear.

He opened his eyes, and sniffled. No one told him not to cry, and none of the eyes looking down on him were the right shade of acidic green. In fact, most of them were varying shades of brown, and all of them were young.

"'E looks weird," one of the children stated sensibly, wiping a sleeve over his face.

Loz sat up very slowly and cautiously, looking around at the small faces with utter confusion. The kids surrounding him took a step back to give him room to, but none of them looked scared, like they ought to, and part of him thought that the really should have backed up further to get out of his way.

"Uh," he said, and was a little startled to find his voice lighter, his body smaller, and his sitting height greatly diminished.

Looking down at himself in surprise, he found he was only a little bigger than the kids surrounding him. He gaped, and lifted his hands to stare at them. Not only were they ungloved but Dual Hound was missing, and to make it worse, they were small. Not small like Kadaj's, in a graceful, artistic way, just small, and a little chubby. With a gasp, Loz patted himself down. His fingers found hard muscles where they should have been but slimmer and with less bulk. His cheeks were strangely soft and squishy, not the sculpted cheekbones that he remembered at all. It was with a whimper of despair that he realized he really was smaller. He'd only been born a few weeks ago, and now he was dead and shrinking. Loz hiccuped in sorrow and sniffled heavily.

"Yazoo," he called, fully expecting to be answered.

The kids all looked at each other, and one leaned very close, to tilt his head and look at Loz. The remnant stared back, caught not by the uninteresting eyes of the boy, but his own reflection in them-that of a small, silver-haired child.

"Do. You. Speak. Common?" The boy asked very loudly, and slowly.

Loz wrinkled his nose and tilted his head, both in confusion at the way the question was said, and at the face he was seeing reflected in the brown eyes before him.

"Are you stupid?" he asked, honestly curious, because he'd heard Yazoo call him that before when he said something obvious.

"No. You?" The boy replied, just a hint of challenge to his voice.

Loz frowned and tilted his head the other way, still watching his reflection. He lifted a hand to scratch at his hair as he puzzled over that reversal, having thought he knew the answer, but his changed state making him wonder if he wasn't a little dumb. No doubt Yazoo would have figured it out by now.

"Are you dead?" Loz asked, dropping the subject, since he didn't have a good answer.

A tittering laugh ran through the kids around him, and he frowned a little, sniffling. He sure didn't think being dead was funny. Especially if neither of his brothers was with him. He sniffled again, feeling the sudden urge to start crying loudly.

"Kid, I've been dead longer'n you've been alive," the brown-eyed boy boasted. "You're what, seven?"

Loz gave a little moan and buried his face in his too-small hands. One of the bigger girls gave a soft coo, and Loz felt a hand touch his back.

"It's okay, sweetie," she soothed, and Loz shivered a little under the unfamiliar touch, but was too miserable to pull away.

He wanted his brothers. He wanted his mother. Tears slid down his face, as he curled up into himself, pulling his knees close and wrapping too-short arms around them. Kadaj wouldn't come for him. Neither would Yazoo probably. They'd been together their whole lives, but that was, what, three weeks? And they hadn't gotten along too well. He and Yazoo were too different from each other. He was too emotional, to be any good, and now he couldn't possibly be strong enough to make up for that. And Yazoo was just mean. They were deadly together, but they had never really liked each other. They had barely known each other.

"Don't cry, Loz" the prettiest of the remnants had said, flipping his hair calmly as he wiped the blood of the two Turks from his hands. "You're insufferable. What mother wants with you is beyond me."

Kadaj hadn't said a word. He'd been sitting a ways away, laughing softly to himself, and watching their two captives bleed, confident in the fact that they were his key to finding mother. Maybe they would have been if they hadn't 'escaped.' It was the only nice thing Yazoo had ever done for him. He hadn't told Kadaj who the one to let them go was, even through he must have known. It hadn't seemed right to let the lady get hurt so badly, and she had been crying. Loz understood that.

He was the only one of his siblings who remembered being sad, and knew how to do it. They were remnants of Sephiroth, sure, and he could be mean if he wanted, but even Sephiroth had been sad sometimes. Loz was just 'fortunate' enough to get the ability to cry over the feeling. He was pretty sure Yazoo had never been sad. Kadaj seemed forlorn sometimes, and felt... second best, or cast aside, which was weird to Loz, because he and Yazoo both knew how important their little brother was. But he never really got sad. He was always too angry.

"Hey," one of the boys, who appeared, Loz thought with a grimace, a little older than himself said suddenly, "you got a name?"

Loz wrinkled his nose again at the boring-looking brown-haired kid and huffed lightly, uncurling enough to cross his arms grumpily.

"Of course I have a name," he muttered, "It's Loz."

The kid scoffed, and Loz bristled at the sound, tensing and clenching his fists, though they were hidden by his closed off posture.

"That's not a real name!" the boy accused, making Loz feel strangely cold, "It's made up. You're weird!"

Loz felt his eyes fill with tears, and a rage light inside himself, but what if the boy was right? It was a made up name, after all. They hadn't just come with names attached. They'd made them up so it would be easier to talk to each other. They really weren't real names. And everyone knew he was a weirdo. It was a complete surprise to him when the taller girl who had put a hand on his shoulder whirled on the kid.

"Shut up, you," she said sharply, pointing an accusing finger at the kid. "It's a great name. Don't you have some other newby to bother?"

The boy grumbled but slumped off, and a good number of the group remaining clustered around Loz followed him, wandering away with only a few backwards glances.

The suddenly young remnant took a deep breath, his lip trembling. He was fighting back the tears, refusing to cry in front of the stranger. He had to be tough after all. Instead, he looked around for the first time. His eyes widened in awe as his eyes raked over the wide, unending field that seemed to stretch on forever in every direction. Filling that place, all around him, were hundreds of children, running and screaming with glee and laughing.

"Wow," he breathed.

The sun was warm on his face, the smell of grass sweet in the air. He stood up, with a lurch of vertigo, to get a better look, gaping at the expanses of perfect green, interrupted only here and there by sturdy climbing trees, most of which were also covered with laughing children, and a few of which sported swings hanging down from their branches.

"Pretty great, huh," one of the younger boys who had remained chirped, wiping at his nose for no particular reason and grinning widely at Loz, displaying two missing teeth up front, as though he himself was responsible for the place.

Loz was too busy being amazed to comment. He'd never seen anywhere like this. He'd been born-created-in the Northern Crater and headed almost immediately to the Forgotten City and Midgar. Vague memories of Banora and Wutai from the man they were pieces of didn't quite cut it in comparison with the real thing. Or semi-real thing, since they were all dead here.

"You can stay if you like," the oldest girl informed him benevolently. "There's always games to play, and you won't get hungry or tired, though you can eat and sleep if you want to."

"It's great!" little nose-scratching boy added, and a chorus of agreement rose from all the children who had stayed nearby.

Loz thought of Kadaj, corrupting the water and making the children drink, and of the little girl he'd held by his side while he watched. He looked away from the fields and down to his hands again. Even if he looked young, he felt inside himself he didn't really belong in this carefree place. Any hands that had kidnapped a little girl, even if it had been Yazoo's idea, couldn't be trusted around these kids. So he swallowed and shook his head, even though he was longing for a good game. Especially if any of the kids knew how to fight...

"I can't," he forced himself to say, ignoring the longing to join in the playtime, clenching his jaw as he tried to fight back tears. "I have to find my brothers and mother. I can't," he paused, shifting, stretching listening for the voice in his head and hearing nothing, "seem to find her."

He lowered his eyes to the ground, feeling an ache inside of himself he couldn't identify, and guessing it was probably that he was missing mother. After all, she had been the only one to ever love him in his brief life. He was a little surprised at the groan of disappointment that arose from the gathered children, and even more surprised by the serene smile on the girl's face. She looked like Yazoo when she smiled like that. It was unnerving.

"We understand," She said.

"We do?" asked nose-scratching boy, though the other kids seemed to ignore him entirely,

"Be careful," the girl warned him softly, ignoring the other children around her. "Not everywhere is as nice as this place, Loz." She touched his shoulder one more time, her fingers gentle and warm.

Loz looked up at her in quiet amazement. He had been taller than everyone he met since being born, and it was a truly unusual experience to look up at someone. For a moment, their eyes met, and she gave him a soft, affectionate smile. Then she and the other children were gone, as though they had never been there, though Loz was still standing on the same grassy field he had been, and could still hear distant gleeful yells of children's laughter.

Part of him wanted to turn around, because he was willing to guess they'd still let him in on the game, but he could faintly hear something just a little ways away, and wandered towards it. By the time he remembered he might have turned back, he was walking out of the fields and into a forest, alone, unarmed, and lost.

Despite the entirely imperfect situation, Loz felt good. Still too short, but somehow he felt less... stretched than he had while he was alive. Yazoo always called him immature anyhow. Loz was vaguely dismayed that his brother turned out to be right about that, but he didn't let it bother him too deeply.

He seemed right in a smaller body. He punched one of the trees he came upon, and winced a little as he bruised his knuckles. Despite the fact that it hurt, he did manage to make a decent indent in the wood. He was obviously frustratingly weaker than he had been when he was bigger, but at least he wasn't human. He silently hoped being dead didn't stop him from growing.

The forest moaned around him, and Loz suddenly stopped feeling quite so good, looking around himself in surprise. There was no sign of mother arriving to express her displeasure, or Sephiroth descending in a furious flash of steel and leather, but something very powerful was very unhappy. It wasn't until the first branch reached out from where it was sitting, perfectly still, to rake across his cheek that Loz realized it was the forest. He glanced back at the tree he had punched and swallowed.

"Oops," he muttered to himself.

The trees nearest him started groaning, and abandoned the pretense of being normal trees, leaning over towards the boy, who was suddenly feeling very small indeed. Loz broke out into a run, and faintly missed the haste materia he had pilfered from big brother. Trees were not known for their speed, but he was having to work pretty hard to avoid all the branches that stretched out to whip across his skin.

"You don't have to be so mean!" he screamed, relieved that he was not, at least, winded yet, "I didn't know you minded!"

The trees ignored his words, and Loz vaguely wondered if this was revenge for the crystalline behemoth off a tree he'd brought down while fighting in the forgotten city. Surely they hadn't minded that one loss this much. Maybe it was just that he was one of 'calamity's children,' a phrase which he hadn't understood in the least until Yazoo had explained with an air of great annoyance that calamity wasn't a name, and they were talking about mother.

Loz snarled slightly at the memory even as he ducked under some more branches being thrust in his path, not as worried about the forest as he would have been if it had managed to do more than bruise and scratch him. As a matter of fact, he ever-changing obstacle course before him was a welcome distraction from his thoughts. Stupid Yazoo was never fun to think about. He could be fun to play with, for the ten minutes he was in the mood, but as soon as they no longer had a common enemy, he slid back into his cool, relaxed mode, sneering and snickering at everything Loz did.

They were brothers, but as far as Loz was concerned they were opposites too, and he hadn't been able to stand his slinky brother other unless there was something to be done. They both liked fighting-it was what they were made for, after all. As long as they were doing that, they were in perfect sync with one another. It was everything else that put them in discord.

And yet, as Loz dodged another tree branch that was apparently attempting to unman him, even his least favorite brother would have been an entirely welcome sight at that moment. He was pretty certain the feeling would not be mutual, but he could care less what Yazoo wanted.

The light of day shone through the dark forest in one direction more brightly than the others, and Loz rocketed off the path and out of the forest without a backwards glance. He let out a whoop of glee as he cleared the last tree limb and rocketed into a dusty, desert landscape that appeared as suddenly as the forest had.

His exultation was short lived, for the very next thing he saw was a crowd of souls clustered around something, cheering. Beyond that intriguing sight, and the sound of their whoops, jeers, and laughter, Loz smelled familiar blood.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just to warn you, the 'mild gore' tag is applicable to this chapter!

Chapter Two

**Yazoo**

When a foot descended on his chest and cracked his sternum, Yazoo realized he was going to die. The invisible form above him stomped down on the bones again, and Yazoo let out a choked scream, struggling in earnest against the hands he could not see that held him down, unable to move an inch. The foot slammed against him once more and his sternum gave way. Dying a second time was worse. The explosion had been fast, but his heart tried to keep beating as it was crushed by the heel of an enemy Yazoo could not fight, and had he been able to breathe, he would have let out such a yell as the world has never heard. As it was, though, the breath to do so died in his lungs with him.

It was then he found out that you couldn't die in the life stream, as his chest twisted itself back outwards. The spikes of broken bone pulled excruciatingly from within him to knit together again. The sensation wrung a shriek of agony and horror from him as he was suddenly given breath. His body slowly put itself back together, the pops and cracks of bone and muscle re-aligning eerily backed by the laughter of those watching. Yazoo knew in that moment, as a hand he could not see brushed over his neck that it would not be the last time he died that day. The very next moment, he was writhing under a choke hold as the other assailants kicked, and twisted, and punched.

Life stream or not, Yazoo was in hell. Suffocating, to his horror, was better than being crushed. The next to murder him found a way to cut, and bled him to death, which took so long Yazoo thought he would go mad from the beating before he passed. Once his breath had stopped and started again, this time coming so weakly that he only managed a whimper, the coldest set of hands yet took over.

These started with a caress, sliding down his cheeks, and his neck, and his chest, each of which burned under the touch in the anticipation of pain. The pain did not come until the hands were much lower, and it was then that Yazoo wished that he had been right, and he had not had a soul, because not existing was beginning to sound very nice. When his breath left his body again and returned weaker still after what felt like days but must have been mere hours, he hoped that perhaps that meant he didn't have much time left. Oblivion would be more than welcome.

A foot met the side of his face, and pressed down, grinding his other cheek down into the ground. He cried out, inhaling dust that mingled with the taste of his own blood, clogging his throat. The boot didn't relent, but kept pushing till his cheek bone cracked loudly, accompanied by the disgusting, squelching sound of torn flesh. The broken pieces of his bone scraped together, the feel of it shuddering through Yazoo like an electric charge as the man above him ground his foot down into his face. He let loose another scream as blood ran down into his eyes and open mouth from that unrelenting pressure. All he could feel was the weight of that boot pressing ever downwards, squeezing him excruciatingly closer to oblivion, and wringing screams from his empty body like a dish towel having the last dregs of water pulled from it.

His mangled cheek bone gave, the two broken edges pushed apart by the force of the man above him, the pain he already felt exploding into utter agony. Something wet, and colder than normal blood flowed down from his eye socket. With a wrench of disgusted fear, he knew it wasn't tears.

"Hey!" a sharp, young voice screamed through he warping sound filling Yazoo's ears. "Get the hell off my brother, you meanies!"

**Loz**

When he saw the crush of people and smelled fresh blood, Loz moved forward quickly to investigate. He was certain that if his brothers had been there, they'd have been forcing him in the other direction, but he was curious, because it didn't really make sense that you could bleed in the life stream.

When he reached the throng, he discovered that shoving through the crowd was not going to work, since there was a tight crush of people watching, but there was one advantage to being small that Loz had never had a chance to experience before. It only took him a moment to find out that he could duck between the legs of the other people to weave through to the front.

His eyes widened at the sight of the victim's legs. They were being held out to both sides by two people, with a man kneeling between them, hammering his fist into the prone man's torso over and over. Loz wrinkled his nose in disgust at the pitiful excuse for a fight. A fight was one thing, but he didn't have much patience for beatings. They were kind of boring, if you asked him. What fun was fighting if the other person wasn't challenging you?

The sound of breaking bone split the crowd's yells, and Loz was briefly jostled by the people behind him leaning in to see around the man busily kicking the ribs of their captive. Loz, having nothing better to do, leaned with them, and caught a glimpse of silver hair, blood stained lips, and an eye like acid rolling back in its socket. He only superficially heard himself yell, and then he was launching forward.

He grabbed the ankle of the man crushing his hated elder brother's face and threw him clear into the rest of the crowd by it, deepening his stance to keep from slinging himself as well. The man kicking Yazoo went down next, getting kicked himself into the now much less happy group. The final bastard got his face punched in by the angry seven year old. The ones holding Yazoo down wisely cleared off when Loz glared at them with tears hot in his eyes and rage pulling his lips away from his teeth. Yazoo moaned briefly, his body twisting without the hands holding him down, and curled in on himself.

"You stay back!" Loz snapped, looking around the circle.

"What the hell is this kid?" one of the men who had been holding Yazoo down asked, a sneer on his lips, and his well groomed hair in disarray.

"It's just a boy," muttered another, who had a splatter of blood across his face.

Loz glared at them all, rage making him shake, daring them to move forward. Finally, one of the group scoffed.

"Fine. I guess we've made our point," he said, shifting his weight back onto his heels as the aggression left his stance, replaced by mild aggravation. "We're not gunna beat up a damn kid. Not like you'll last long any how."

There was a general murmur of agreement, and just like the children and their playing place, everyone surrounding the brothers vanished as though they had never been there. Loz paused only a moment to make sure they were gone before turning to his older brother, falling to his knees by him and pushing the hair back from his face with slightly chubby, shaking hands.

"Yazoo?" he called softly, his voice much softer and weaker without challengers opposing him.

"Don't cry, L..." the familiar phrase was cut off with a sharp choke and a scream that edged from between gritted teeth.

Loz's eyes went wide, and he felt his lip tremble and his eyes fill with fear. He turned Yazoo's face carefully so that they could look at each other, since the right side of his brother's face had been badly broken, and if he still had an eye on that side at all, it was hidden under layer after layer of swelling and bruises. Yazoo's functional eye met his as soon as he was mostly looking upwards, and his working brow furrowed, making Loz wince a little at the painful one-sided nature of the look.

"You're..." Yazoo began, running out of breath again almost instantly.

"Seven," Loz finished for him, sniffling softly, and trying to hold it back, stroking some of the blood off his brother's lip, and wondering how the other remnant was still alive when the entire patch of ground beneath him seemed to be soggy with his blood.

Yazoo's mouth opened twice more before he managed to talk again, and Loz really hoped what that person said as they were leaving wasn't true, and Yazoo wasn't going to die.

"Kadaj?" Yazoo queried with a note of hope in his weak voice.

Loz almost choked on misery, and ducked his chin, shaking his head. He actually felt Yazoo droop at the response.

"I haven't found him yet," Loz answered petting his elder's hair carefully and absently, his animosity forgotten for the moment.

He lifted his head to look around them, brows drawn together in fear, because he had never seen Yazoo hurt before. He'd seen him after that explosion, being held together by the materia in them both. As bad as that had been, it was very different than feeling the sticky mess of his brother's blood under his fingers.

When Loz didn't get a reply from his brother, he looked down at him again to find his eye closed and his breath rasping in and out of his parted lips. The side of his face that wasn't bleeding and crushed was covered in a thick layer of the dust from the ground.

Loz whimpered softly and placed both his hands on his brother, one over his heart, and the other cupping his uninjured cheek, feeling the damp mud-like trails on his skin left over from tears. Loz hadn't even known he could cry. He hadn't when they'd lost Kadaj. He'd been too full of black rage, and too close to death to bother. Even Loz had been dry eyed at that moment.

Tears didn't seem right on his pretty brother, but Loz had no way of helping. He couldn't carry Yazoo, and dragging him would only worsen the damage to the rest of his body. Loz glanced down his still form, and almost retched when he saw that his brother's pants were unzipped. Loz caught a glimpse of blood down there then tore his eyes away, closing them tightly and choking back a sob. He hated Yazoo-despised him-but he never meant for this to happen. His clenched his fists and bowed his head. This was all his fault. If he'd just gotten there sooner, he could have kept it from happening. Tears leaked past his closed eyes, falling onto his brother's broken skin.

"Don't leave," he begged in a whimper, his strangely young voice cracking under the strain of the plea. "I'll be good. I won't bother you, but please don't go!"

He broke down into sobs, uncomfortably loud in the silent air. There was a time he hadn't feared anything, but it had hurt so much when Kadaj died Loz had wished he was dead. Though Loz might not have missed Yazoo personally if he were gone, they were parts of the same whole. Besides, Loz didn't like to see the calmly confident man, who had kept them hopeful and on track laying empty of his placid smiles in a heap on the ground. Of course, Yazoo's calm optimism had already been proven wrong, but it didn't change the fact that it would have been nice to have a little annoyed reassurance.

Instead Yazoo continued twitching uncontrollably, his breath coming in shallow gasps, and his head lolled limply against Loz's hand, as though trying to escape the grievous injury to his right side, even unconscious. And Loz, lost in his own body, weaker than he ever had been, alone and supply-less, could do nothing but sit trembling by his side and try to keep the dust out of the wound. He an his fingers over Yazoo's lips and nose to try and make sure the blood there didn't choke him. It was an irrational fear, but it was all he could do, and he had to do something.

"Somehow," a deep, calm voice spoke from behind them, "I knew you two would have run into some trouble already."

The young copy lept to his feet and whirled to face the intruding voice. Loz didn't know what he had been expecting at the voice, but the burly Soldier who stepped out of thin air was not it.

"Angeal," he whispered, both awed and frightened by the appearance of Sephiroth's long-dead friend.

Angeal's face remained blank and calm as he looked the boy over, but when his gaze fell to Yazoo with a soft sneer, Loz crouched, eying the buster sword nervously, but staying firmly between his dying brother and the man who would no doubt welcome an end to them both. The sword, he noticed absently, in the part of him that thought like Sephiroth, still looked perfect, slung on Angeal's back. The only blade powerful enough to be a suitable counterpart to the solid, stoic warrior. When he took a step forward, Loz clenched both his fists, and raised them in open defiance.

"I won't let you hurt him!" he attempted to shout, and ended up squeaking. He frowned briefly at his voice's inability to cooperate with the gravity of the situation, and the scowl only deepened when Angeal chuckled darkly.

"If I was here to hurt either of you," he said calmly, "you would both be dead."

Loz gulped, looked at the sword, and glanced back briefly to his unconscious brother, knowing Angeal was right. What hindrance would a mere child be to a member of the bloody trinity? He swallowed heavily, not putting his fists down, and turning what attention he had back to Angeal, the fresh tears on his face making his eyes burn. He'd cried so much today, it was a wonder he hadn't passed out from dehydration.

"Th...then what do you want!" Loz cried, more than fed-up with this entire thing.

He didn't want to be dead any more. It was no fun. He wanted Kadaj and Mother back, and wanted Yazoo to be alive and mean, though preferably far away from him. Angeal walked forward again, and Loz found himself backing up, gazing upwards in a silent, stunned horror at the mountain of a man. He'd never really realized how big Angeal was. All he knew about him were memories from Sephiroth, and Sephiroth was just as tall. To a seven year old, Angeal was a behemoth.

"I," he said firmly, his eyes locked on Loz's, "want nothing to do with either of you. Neither you nor your brother have any concept of honor, or any right to be called warriors," Loz couldn't help the whimper that broke from him at the man's obvious anger. "However, Zachary insists that we give you both a chance." Loz's misery dried instantly, evaporating as quickly as a rain drop in the desert.

"Zack?" he queried softly.

He had vague memories of a happy, dark-haired man grinning at Sephiroth, and remembered the feelings of friendship, and warmth that he had given even their dark, angry creator. If he had really been against him, which he must have been, because mother had said so, he had never shown it. The very name seemed to warm something on Loz's inside, in a way much more pleasant than the angry heat that had been filling him before. He came back out of his mind to find Angeal making a very strange face in his direction. It looked angry, so Loz shrank a little, but he couldn't quite understand the look. Brows furrowed, mouth tightened at the corners, and just the slightest flare to those nostrils... It was like trying to read a book in Wutaian. Yazoo probably would have known.

"Yes," Angeal said, with a softer quality to his voice, though it was out of fondness for Zack, not the child before him. "Though I probably shouldn't ask how you know him."

The frustrated scowl worked its way back onto the man's face, and Loz shrank back again, his foot touching his injured brother's arm, and pulling a moan of protest from the other boy, making him turn his head to the side before jerking away from it with a hiss of pain. Loz swallowed again.

"Yazoo... Needs help," He said tentatively, hoping he was right about why Angeal had come to them.

He didn't trust Angeal. None of them would have. He'd been the first one to really betray Sephiroth, they knew, because he'd given up and died long before Genesis drove them... him... mad.

"I had noticed," Angeal replied coldly, striding forward once more. "Move. I'll take you somewhere that will help, and then I'm done with you two. Understand?"

Loz skittered away from him, stumbling in the loose dirt. He ended up on the other side of his brother's shuddering body from the bigger man, and watched with wide, frightened eyes as Angeal ran one look down the other boy. He picked him up easily, apparently unmoved by the piteous moan that ripped from Yazoo's throat at the touch. Loz's lip trembled at the sound, and he scampered after Angeal as quickly as he could, and grabbed a handful of his shirt automatically, his eyes only for the tilted head of the other clone, and almost completely oblivious to the heated glare Angeal sent his way at the contact. Loz didn't care so much. Angeal had said he wouldn't kill them, and he was, if not trustworthy, a man of his word. It would have been 'dishonorable' for him to kill them, and Loz knew that. He didn't quite get the honor thing, but he understood the rules of it pretty well. It just didn't seem like a very fun game.

He didn't really know how long they walked, but it was too long. Too much time spent watching the blood flow backwards over his brother's broken face to wind itself through his drifting hair, and listening to his breath weaken and stumble, only to be broken by a hacking choke that sent another flow of blood from between his bruised, stained lips. Loz was working too hard to keep up with the bigger Soldier's long legged strides to help him, and he only hoped Angeal's honor was enough to make sure his fellow remnant didn't die in his arms.

Loz discovered while following Angeal's quick pace that it was indeed possible to get tired in the life stream. At least, in this part of the life stream, with its bare dirt and dry air. Angeal seemed to walk as though he was taking an quick stroll across the Shinra compound, but Loz was struggling just to maintain his hold on the Soldier's shirt. His breath came in ragged gasps, and relatively soon, he had to focus on his feet rather than his wounded, ailing brother. The ground was unstable, and rocky. It was difficult to predict whether his next step would land him once more at the bigger man's side, or stumbling after him. When that happened, he was only saved by a tight, grip on Angeal's shirt as his short legs struggled to keep under him. To top his misery off, Loz was crying again, with the heat of frustration clouding his vision and clogging his lungs. He was choking back the sobs, terrified that Angeal, like Yazoo, would find no patience for them, and leave him and his dying brother to their own devices.

It was only because he was forced into watching his footsteps that Loz saw the transition taking place in the ground. There wasn't a firm line where the rock stopped and the meadow began, but patches of completely incongruous emerald green grass springing up randomly from the stone. When Loz started looking around, his struggles were forgotten in the silent wonder that grew in him. Suddenly, rather than a desert, they were in a field, that had brief patches of bare rock inside it. Eventually, even those petered out, leaving them in an open field that didn't go quite as far as the eye could see. It seemed to peter out into blank whiteness at the edges.

Angeal halted, and Loz tried to regain the breath to ask why, stumbling up beside him, until he saw the stream they were halted before. Angeal lowered Yazoo none-too gently to the ground, and left him lying in a heap. Loz yelped in protest at the rough treatment of his brother and dropped his hold on Angeal's shirt, scurrying to his brother's side to turn his broken face out of the grass, which must have poked painfully at it. He looked up with the fire of rage in his eyes at Angeal, and found the man already walking away from them.

"Wait!" Loz cried, "you're supposed to help us! What am I supposed to do?" Angeal paused, and looked over the shoulder not blocked by Buster's hilt, just barely giving Loz a glimpse of his face.

"The stream will heal him," he answered gruffly. "But you can't heal a soul that's not there."

"What about after that?" Loz insisted, desperate and scared. "Do you know where Kadaj is?" Angeal was silent for a long while, and when he spoke again, his voice was hard as stone.

"You'll have to prove yourselves. If you want something to do, go see Sephiroth." Loz shuddered at the very name, "You would probably learn a thing or two. Or you'd just become part of him. Either way, it's not my problem."

As soon as the words left his lips, Angeal was gone without a trace, leaving the seven year old to cry over his brother's broken form, frustrated, confused, and now quite suddenly terrified. Sephiroth was here. He and the remnants were never intended to exist in the same place at the same time. Loz shuddered, his hold on his brother tightening briefly as he was suddenly filled with fear that their Kadaj might already have been devoured by the larger soul.

Yazoo groaned at the tightening of his fingers in the shreds of his shirt, and Loz instantly let go, an apology slipping from his lips before he had a chance to remember he didn't like the one he was apologizing to. Yazoo didn't react in the slightest except for a writhing movement that trailed up from his legs, sending his hands into twitching spasms. Loz swallowed, and looked to the water, and hoped silently that the planet's stream wouldn't kill Yazoo. Kadaj would be very angry if he found out Loz had killed his brother, even by accident. He swallowed, and reached out to touch the water himself first.

The liquid was cool, and tingled slightly on his fingers, but it didn't hurt in the slightest. In fact, it felt kind of nice. Loz shifted positions to sit between Yazoo and the water, cupped a double handful in both of his hands, and carefully poured it over Yazoo's face, his hands trembling and his brows twisted in a frown of concentration. The lacerations on his skin closed up at once, and the bone shifted, but just enough to make the other clone whimper softly. Loz frowned, looked between his brother and the water, and then grabbed him by both lapels and hauled him forwards, drawing a brief shriek of pain from him that cut off into whimpers, his hands unconsciously moving to ward off Loz's excruciating touch.

Loz ignored the attempts at defense entirely, and slid into the the cool, sparkling water. Finding it both pleasant and shallow enough for him to have both his shoulders above the water while standing flat footed, he pulled his brother in after. There was an enormous splash, and the moment the larger boy hit the water, he gasped hollowly before slipping under the surface. Loz hauled his head out again immediately afterwards, holding him sputtering above the surface, watching the water slide out of his mouth like spit, washing away at least some of the blood that stained him, and flinching at the sharp shriek the man in his arms gave. Yazoo struggled against his hold, and Loz snarled to himself, finding it difficult to hold the older man above the surface while he struggled.

His hands slipped, and Yazoo disappeared under the surface for a moment, little more than a silver and black outline twisting rather forlornly just beneath the surface of the shallow stream. Loz might have been able to fish him out faster had he not been thinking that it served him right. As it was, by the time he got his head above water, Yazoo was choking for breath, his lips slightly blue. So vicious was his choking that Loz ended up half-heaving him to shore, letting him clutch at the grass on the bank with trembling, paper-white fingers and heave the water out of his lungs and onto the ground in retching coughs. Loz scowled a little, and patted him on the back a couple times, feeling nothing but distaste for the other, but still not wanting him dead.

He had already decided it was lonely without Yazoo there. It was only once the coughing had subsided into hollow gasps for air that Loz realized the right side of Yazoo's face was all in one piece again, though his eyes were closed, the lashes wet and clumping. Loz, trusting his brother was firmly enough on land that he could safely be let go for a moment, and grumbling lightly to himself, ran his hands down both of his brother's legs, checking for any of the heaving gasps of pain he had seen accompany contact before. When he found them absent, he shoved his newly-elder brother the rest of the way out of the stream, and followed, shivering in the surrounding air now that he was sopping wet.

The heavy, rumbling breathing beside him was easy to keep track of, though entirely at odds with Yazoo's usually over-sexed appearance and behavior. It wasn't very attractive at all, in fact, and if Yazoo had been awake, and not recovering from dying, Loz would have tried to pick on him for it. It probably wouldn't have gone well, since every time Loz tried to tease him it ended up turning around some how, but he still would have tried. Instead he tilted his head back, even though their was no sun, and dangled his bare feet in the water, kicking them idly while he waited for Yazoo to wake up, his lips pulling into a confused and half-worried scowl with each hacking cough that sent his brother's body curling inwards on itself and made his chalky fingers twitch.

He told himself that he didn't care if the other remnant never woke up, as long as he could tell Kadaj and mother that he really had tried to save him. That would mean he would get more attention. Kadaj had always favored Yazoo, and since mother favored Kadaj, and Yazoo favored mother, that meant the three of them ended up close while Loz hovered on the outskirts of the group and amused himself. The only person who had ever favored him was the little girl he had stolen from nii-san with his materia. She hadn't left his side until he forgot she was there, never running to Yazoo or Kadaj to get away from him. Since she hadn't been mean, like everyone else, Loz had been super careful not to hurt her. She was very small, after all, and it would have been way too easy to crush her. He felt kind of bad for letting Kadaj almost kill her with that tree, but it had proven a point, and the girl hadn't tried to run away again.

Then Loz frowned as he realized that yes, she had, and she had succeeded. Which was actually, when looked at more thoroughly, really funny. He snickered to himself, his toes curling slightly in delight, and let out a soft sigh of breath. Maybe it would all work out. Maybe they would never really have to meet Sephiroth, and Kadaj would find them, like he always managed to, and Mother wouldn't be too mad at him and his brothers. Even if Yazoo survived, and it was sounding likely, now that there was more blood and water on the ground around his head than inside his lungs, maybe death wouldn't be so bad. After all, all three of them were there. A particularly sharp inhalation brought Loz's attention back to his sodden brother, who had pushed himself onto his elbows, gagging softly, his body trembling under the skintight leathers that had been invented along with them.

Loz tilted his head to watch him, and tilted his head to sneak a peek at his pretty brother's face. It was indeed back to its right shape, but the eye that had been crushed was wrong. Where there should have been the bright, acid green that all three of them shared was a pale, blank orb, with only the barest hint of acid green where his iris should have been. Loz gaped, and reached out a hand towards the eye in curiosity, and realized suddenly that Yazoo wouldn't like him doing that.

For one reason or another, Yazoo had never liked being touched. He'd been really explicit about that too. The most anyone ever touched him was Kadaj after having one of his many nightmares. Only afterwards, when Kadaj was shaken and staring blankly ahead with glowing and horrified eyes would Yazoo open his arms to their precious one. Loz had never joined the cuddle, but watched with longing as their smallest brother curled next to Yazoo and allowed his hair to be petted until he could fall asleep once more.

"Loz," Yazoo grated, turning his head until his bright, normal eye focused on the recently-young silver-haired boy.

Loz jumped a little and glanced behind him, though he had no idea what he expected to find there. He swallowed heavily and looked back to the normally uber-competent remnant and found him struggling to sit up. He almost reached out to help, then once again jerked his hand back. Fortunately, Yazoo didn't appear to see him out of the blank eye. With a hint of worry, Loz remembered what Angeal had said about healing souls that weren't there.

Before Loz had really caught up to the change in position and awareness of his only companion in this strange new place, Yazoo had lifted his head to look around, hair falling limp and damp around him in rivulets of silver.

"Where are we?" he asked.

His slim fingers slid over the grass as though it were a novelty and his functioning eye tracked blindly across the landscape. His gaze skirted over Loz as though he wasn't there. Loz huffed and folded his arms, feeling his lower lip poke out slightly in a pout and looking away from his obnoxious sibling.

"At a stream, duh," he groused softly, trying as ever to get a one up on his brother.

He was stunned when no rebuke came, and turned to find Yazoo looking at him in confusion, one hand sliding over the ground, his fingers shaking as they parted the grass. There was silence for a long moment, and then Yazoo spoke, with a great gravity in his voice, and the slightest hesitation in his speech.

"What stream?"

Loz stared at him, and waved a hand in front of his face, only to have his wrist grabbed in a tight, warning grip by his elder brother, who was glaring daggers at him. Loz swallowed, looked to the stream, and plunged both their hands into it. Yazoo gave a sharp gasp and yanked his hand out again, dropping his brother's arm to grab his own fingers to his chest. Loz couldn't help the thin smile that twitched his lips upwards.

" _That_ stream," he said smugly.

The faint triumph was not long lived as Loz realized he had yet another problem. Apparently, Yazoo could see him, but as he watched his older brother flex his wet fingers in amazement, his eyes drawn down to the young boy felt utterly certain that Yazoo couldn't see anything else.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

**Yazoo**

Getting Loz to explain anything was like pulling teeth. He had a horrible habit of forgetting to bother with the proper nouns in his sentences, and filling in with 'that thing,' or 'those tree bastards,' which in turn made it almost impossible to follow his wandering narrative. The worst part, of course, was that he seemed to be completely oblivious to how obnoxious it was. If he noticed that his story made no sense, it didn't stop him from continuing to chatter away.

In return, Yazoo couldn't help the frustration that coiled in his stomach, making him clench his fists. As ever, it appeared his brother had gotten lucky. Waking up in a green field, full of other children waiting to play with him was the epitome of good fortune compared to what Yazoo had awoken to. He was bragging incessantly about the fact that he could see both the people and the landscapes of the Lifestream, unlike Yazoo. With every smug reminder of that, the elder clone was put further on edge, until his hand was itching to cuff his now-younger brother across the head. He restrained himself, as ever. He had never harmed either of his brothers, and he was not about to start now that Loz finally looked the same age as his personality.

It was almost a relief to hear the burbling, jumbled words falling from his brother's lips in a light, young voice. Loz had been too physically intimidating while alive for Yazoo to be comfortable around him. He had awakened every defensive instinct the willowy remnant possessed, just by existing. Now that he was around three feet tall and even more baby-faced than their beloved Kadaj, it was easier to let the frustratingly meandering narrative style go. He still didn't like it, but it was easier to stand.

He winced faintly, closing his eyes for just a moment. His head ached, and he shivered in the chilly air, still dripping wet from being dunked in the stream. Loz was waving his hands excitedly describing a forest full of the aforementioned 'tree bastards,' and their attempts to turn him into a kabob.

Yazoo raised a shaking hand to his forehead and rubbed at his temple, flinching even at his own touch. He couldn't quite focus on the story Loz was telling. He wasn't sure if it was because the story made absolutely no sense, or because he was focusing all his attention on ignoring the burning slowly taking over his newly healed body and the labored beating of his heart.

"And then," Loz exclaimed, with enormous enthusiasm, "The forest was just gone, and I was in the desert! It was a kind of boring desert, though..."

"Lower your voice, Loz," Yazoo said as he raised his free hand to forestall him before letting it drop once more to his lap.

His other hand traced automatically down from his temple to touch the corner of his blind eye. He could remember exactly how it felt to have that side of his face caved in. The smaller remnant sneered childishly at him, then pouted. Yazoo gave his little brother the meanest look he could muster, refusing to back down.

"Then," Loz continued with a little less volume, looking deeply displeased, "I saw a crowd of people, and I wanted to see what they were doing, because they sounded like they were having fun, and I was kinda lonely, so I went over to look."

"How many people?" Yazoo asked through the sickening dread trying to clog his throat.

His stomach twisted. He had a feeling he knew what he was about to hear from his little brother. He only hoped that Loz hadn't watched long before interfering, because he couldn't stand the thought of his brother having seen him splayed out and used. He shuddered again, sickness and rage twisting together within him, their tastes bitter in his mouth.

"I dunno," Loz said with a shrug, already losing control of his volume again. "A bunch. So I wanted to see what they were doing, and I, y'know, kinda slipped into the crowd to see."

Yazoo swallowed, closed his eyes, and prayed that Loz hadn't gotten there in time to see him with his pants around his ankles, being ripped into so many pieces he thought he would split into remnants.

"And some guy was stepping on your face, so I kicked his ass!" the young boy exclaimed proudly.

Yazoo could have cried in relief, and yet, at the same time, part of him was filled with misery at the words. He wasn't quite sure why, but he choked both emotions back quickly. He put on his calm mask and forced himself to open his eyes. His hand slid down off his aching cheek and fell limp at his side.

"And they stopped?" He asked, forcing a single eyebrow upwards in a faked incredulous look, trying to hide the pain raging through him just beneath the surface.

"Not till I kicked the other guys' asses," Loz corrected, wrinkling his nose at Yazoo's skeptical tone.

"You look like you're six," Yazoo said smoothly with a narrowed gaze, "and you expect me to believe you defeated an entire mob of adults?"

"You couldn't see 'em. How do you even know they were grown ups?" Loz asked, scowling fiercely, which pulled his young face into an almost comical scrunch.

'I know,' Yazoo thought to himself, fighting to keep his mind on the boy before him, as his eyes narrowed automatically and his gut lurched in revolt.

"Anyhow, I din' have to. Only had to kick three of their asses, and the other guys backed off, cuz they thought you were going to die anyways, and you prob'ly would have, cuz I'm seven, and you're tall," Loz prattled, trailing off grumpily.

Yazoo rolled his eyes to what he assumed was probably the sky, and heaved a long, exasperated sigh. He forced himself not to strangle the little thing for wandering from the point once more. Honestly it was like talking to Zacha—He cut the thought off, recognizing it as one of Sephiroth's memories and not his own. He whipped his attention back to Loz, his aggression at the intrusion turning on the boy.

"But I'm not dead, am I," he snapped, "so just tell me what happened and spare me your heroic struggles, Loz."

The young boy jerked at the address, and his lip, to Yazoo's infinite horror and frustration, started to quiver. The look of miser which had been so obnoxious on the twenty-something body the other fragment had possessed before was suddenly intensely pathetic, and set off every parenting instinct Yazoo shouldn't have possessed. He didn't have many, and before they had always been reserved for Kadaj, but Loz just looked horribly forlorn and hurt. Yazoo heaved a sigh.

"Don't cry, Loz," he ordered.

"'M not crying!" Loz groused firmly as his lip stopped its quivering to snap into a severe scowl.

Yazoo fought the urge to smile. It was such a normal exchange that it distracted him for a moment from the cramps ravaging his muscles and the pulsing headache that made his head feel like it would explode at any moment. For some reason, the impending death that was implied by that metaphorical explosion was much less desirable than it had been before, despite the new aggravating presence.

"Continue," he said calmly, pulling a muffled groan of frustration from little Loz.

He snickered softly to himself at the new nickname, which would no doubt stick in his mind whether he wanted it to or not. The now pouting child started picking at the ground around them absently. Yazoo watched in interest as Loz plucked a blade of grass. The moment it came free in the boy's fingers, Yazoo could see it. It was an abrupt transition from invisible, implied grass to a firm and physical reality. Absently, Yazoo lowered his own hand to the ground, not bothering to look, and plucked the first blade he felt, glancing down to see that, indeed, he could now see the little strip of plant matter.

"Well, I didn' know what to do," Loz muttered, "I thought you were gunna die, an' I can't hear mother..."

He trailed off and glanced up to Yazoo hopefully. The slim, hurt clone had to shake his head slightly to let him know he didn't hear her either. Loz turned glum once more, and started pulling apart the blade of grass.

"Well, I didn' know what to do-" you said that, thought Yazoo, holding back his frustration once more and hoping that eventually Loz would get to the point, "-an' then Angeal showed up-"

"What?" Yazoo hissed, his eyes widening and his hand clenching around the strand of grass he held, crushing it instantly. Loz blinked at him, eyes wide, then shrugged a little.

"We're in the Lifestream," the boy said carefully, as though talking to someone stupid. "Angeal's dead, so he's here too." Yazoo's mouth went dry, but Loz wasn't done talking yet. "Anyhow, he wasn' nice, but he still helped by getting us here, an' then he disappeared again after saying the water would help you, an' I asked him what we should do an'..." The young boy broke off, and Yazoo caught a shadow of fear on his face. "An' I don' wanna say what he told us to do."

"How-" Yazoo started, his voice catching in his throat, which had closed up in nausea and traces of rage left over from Sephiroth's mind "did I get here?"

"Huh?" Loz asked, pulled from his musings over Angeal's advice to look up at Yazoo with furrowed brows before realization struck him. "Oh! He carried you. He walked really fast too..." Yazoo had stopped listening.

Angeal--handsome, noble, honorable Angeal had touched him. He shivered fiercely, wondering how dirty the man must have felt, holding him. It was a testimate to his honor and self-restraint that he had touched such a twisted, disgusting being and held back his bile. After all, even without his own taint, Yazoo was a piece of Sephiroth, who had betrayed Angeal's trust by destroying Zack when he promised to protect him. Not to mention all the evils he had added atop that during his short time alive as himself. He had tortured and murdered innocents without a second thought. And he had done it all for the sake of a mother he had always known wasn't real, and his beautiful, crazed, tormented Kadaj. Angeal had touched all of that--all of that twisted, horrible darkness--and was no doubt scrubbing himself raw, somewhere in the Life stream, trying to remove the filth that had come from the clone's body.

Ignoring the continuing tide of Loz's words, Yazoo turned away and retched, disgusted by himself, and horrified. He hated being touched, and he despised being touched by strangers. Most of all, though, he hated dirtying what he considered pure. And Angeal had achieved a perfect three in one hit. What else could you expect from a member of the trinity?

**Loz**

Loz had been rather ignoring his brother, chattering away, his words used to mask the nervousness coiling in his middle. Angeal's words were haunting him--plucking at the deepest insecurities in his heart. If they had to go to Sephiroth, what would become of them? And everything he had said about souls--well, Loz hadn't understood most of it, but it had been plenty disturbing.

But what bothered him most--what he couldn't get out of his head--was the way Angeal had looked at him. He'd never been looked at like that before. Angeal's eyes, which part of Loz remembered as glowing with a kindness and warmth, had been lit with a furious, cold glow. He'd stared down at Loz as though he was an insect, and remembering that look, Loz felt as big as one.

He was so busy trying to escape the memory of that look in a flow of words that he didn't even notice something off with his brother until a choking, gagging sound filled the air. Loz snapped his mouth shut, and looked back Yazoo in surprise, as watery bile spilled from between his pale lips.

"Ew," muttered Loz to himself as he watched Yazoo throw up, his back arched like a cat with a hairball, and his hand braced on he ground, elbow locked, to keep him from falling into his own puke.

Loz knew he probably ought to have been worried, but he was so grossed out it took him a while to register that Yazoo was sick. When his brain caught up to reality he couldn't help but put a hand on his brother's arched back, watching his muscles tremble and downright pitying him. Yazoo slapped his hand away without even looking at him, soft, unintentional mewls escaping him as he tried to hold back his nausea. Loz yanked his hand back to his chest, and his eyes filled with tears.

"Why not?" he screamed at the unspoken command from Yazoo. "Why does Kadaj get to touch you and not me? What did I do?" 

"Loz," Yazoo moaned as though the words pained him, pushing away from where he'd been sick to flop forlornly into the grass, one hand going to his head, "don't shout."

"I hate you!" Loz screamed as he clambered to his feet simply so that he could stop one of them in frustration. "You're just like mother! Why does everyone ignore me?"

He had to stop screaming to breathe for a moment, unable to carry as much air as he once could in his much smaller lungs. He stood panting, his head turned to the sky, and trying to regain his calm as tears streamed down his face into his ears, tickling them uncomfortably. He didn't know why he was yearning so fiercely for someone to comfort him. No one in his memory ever had, so really, he ought not to have even thought of it as an option. He had seen Yazoo comfort Kadaj before once or twice, but had never been on the receiving end of his smallest brother's desperate hugs. Kadaj would tolerate having his hair ruffled once or twice, but not often. He was more likely to snap than to allow the touch, but Loz had been desperate for attachment of any kind, and it was worth the danger.

"Stop that," Yazoo moaned softly from where he lay on the ground, looking brittle and utterly furious.

Loz had the sudden urge to stomp on him next time he stomped his foot, and resisted only out of a hope that he would not have to get back in the water with his least-beloved brother. Instead, Loz started screaming. It was an equally stupid impulse, but he needed to blow off some steam, and it was out of his lungs, or out of Yazoo's hide. He was so absorbed in the wail of frustration and loneliness and confusion that he closed his eyes in it, tears sneaking down his cheeks. The next moment, a firm hand clamped over his mouth, fingers digging into the skin of his cheeks.

"I said stop," Yazoo snapped, his functional eye blazing, and close enough now that Loz got a good look at the empty orb of pale green opposing it.

Loz went still and stiff as a rod under his touch, and the scream tapered off instantly to whimpered sobs. Yazoo's hand remained clamped over his mouth for a moment, then he was shaken fiercely once before the fingers released their vicious hold.

"Don't start screaming again," Yazoo ordered sharply, and Loz narrowed his eyes, feeling, for the first time in his brief life the impulse for rebellion.

"Who do you think you are? Mother?" He snapped once his jaw was cooperating once more.

That had hurt, and even if Yazoo hadn't really injured him, Loz didn't like being in pain of any kind. Yazoo gave a throaty growl of annoyance and stumbled to his feet, turning his back on the boy and staggering away from him, trying to regain his balance while still weak enough that his legs threatened to give out under him at any moment. Loz's eyes snapped wide open, though he stayed rooted to the spot.

"Where are you going?" he called, trying to force anger into his voice to cover his desperation.

"Away from you!" the taller man called back, his silken hair tumbling about him with every uneven step, like a personal cloud of silver.

Loz tried to scream back that that was just fine, and he didn't care what his brother did, but the words caught in his throat and came out a sob. He stamped his foot again, and realized distantly that he was having a temper tantrum. Yazoo stumbled onwards, and Loz, to his own horror, found himself stumbling after, still sobbing harshly, only managing to speak in fragments through his tears.

"Buh—but you ca—can't see wh—ere you're goin'!" he protested loudly, making Yazoo let out another frustrated half-roar.

"I can't understand a word that is coming out of your mouth, Loz," the older boy snapped, even as he continued to walk blindly.

Loz burst into noisy tears again, and almost missed the answering howl of frustration and pain from his brother. Yazoo whirled on him, little more than a person-shaped blur to his teary eyes.

"What is wrong with you?" he snarled, each word as snappish as a whip's crack. "You're not a child, Loz!" The younger boy stopped crying almost instantly, still sniffling, but his eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched in concentration.

"But I _am_ a kid," he said in frustrated confusion, his voice hiccuping slightly, "I'm a _kid_."

For a moment, all was silence except for the burbling of the stream behind them and Loz's confused sniffles. Yazoo stood where he was, standing ever so slightly tilted, as though one of his legs was wounded, which it probably was. His brows were furrowed, and his lips were pulled into a slight frown of concentration.

"I," he said finally, and very clearly, "did not understand a word of that." Loz scowled darkly. "Do you even listen to yourself when you talk, Loz?"

"It makes perfect sense!" Loz exclaimed, his fists clenching at his sides and what muscles his young body had quivering in tense weariness. "We're dead, and I'm a kid. That means... Uh, that I'm... a kid." He nodded, satisfied he'd gotten his point across. Yazoo was still staring at him as though he had two heads.

"I know you're speaking common," he said calmly, "but I still don't understand you." 

Loz huffed and crossed his arms, clenching his fists until it hurt a little before forcing himself to relax. He gave it one last try, uncrossing his arms again to splay them out before him, weaving back and forth to indicate himself and his brother.

"We're, like, ghosts, right?" he said, carefully, giving it one last try, uncrossing his arms to splay them out before him, waving back and forth to indicate himself and his brother. "So doesn't that mean that what we are here is, uh, what we really are?"

Yazoo blinked once, looking briefly contemplative, and for a moment Loz thought he'd gotten through to him.

"Well," scoffed Yazoo derisive, brushing it away, "one way or the other, it doesn't much matter."

Yazoo turned and started away again, his unstable gait a far cry from the elegant glide of his movements when they were alive. Loz was too angry to burst into tears, and instead stomped on the ground until his foot had created a solid imprint in the soft earth.

"Loz," Yazoo called from ahead, "I'm leaving you behind if you don't catch up."

Loz did scream then, just a brief shriek of indignant surprise, and stumbled, caught between stomping his foot and trying to catch up, ending up on his face in the grass briefly before scrambling up and after Yazoo again. He scowled when the man snickered at the sounds of his struggle without even turning, then laughed himself when Yazoo tripped on a little mound of earth he couldn't see. Then they both glared at each other for a long moment. Loz was seconds away from the perfect snide comeback to the situation. He was putting the words into perfect order in his head when he suddenly stopped, his brain just freezing over.

Yazoo's blind eye stared at him as though it could see straight through to his soul, the white of it reddened as though by tears. When Loz turned his gaze to the other, more normal eye, he realized that it seemed greener from the reddened background. Yazoo was going to cry. It was so incongruous with his character that Loz forgot not only his excellent rebuttal, but what he was angry about, what they were talking about, and where they were. He just stood there, staring, his jaw hanging loosely in surprise. Yazoo whirled away again, nearly falling over at the sudden move, and Loz found himself catching up automatically to the taller boy's side, hands itching to catch him, and relatively certain he wouldn't do much good even if Yazoo didn't shake him off and start up a new argument.

"Where are we going?" he asked after a moment when Yazoo showed no signs of stopping his stumbling walk.

"Away," Yazoo growled in response, and Loz fell silent for a moment, watching his brother walk with a frown. His unsteadiness wasn't all from being unable to see the ground.

"If you don't know," he said, pitching his voice a little lower than he had been, and watching in interest as a little furrow of pain slid off of Yazoo's brow at the change in tone, "why don't I lead?"

Yazoo shot him a glare, and Loz refused to shrink away at it, instead folding his arms and gesturing to the ground.

"You can't see where you're going," he asserted again, with less of a whine this time, "and I don't want you to-" he broke off briefly, unwilling to let his brother know it was his safety that worried him. "I don't want to have to fish you out of a ditch you couldn't see," he finished with a nod of his head.

If Yazoo noticed the stumble he didn't let on. Instead, he paused, then swung his head to look Loz over. As ever, Loz had no idea what the expression on his face meant, but his nose was wrinkled ever so slightly, as though in disgust or distaste, or something equally unlikable. The only reason Loz didn't snap over it was that he wasn't sure whether the look was directed at him or towards Yazoo himself. Then the older clone nodded, slowly, and took a halting step backwards, obviously making room for Loz to take over the lead.

"Don't get us into trouble," Yazoo's deeper voice warned, just a hint of frustration coming across in the words.

Loz ignored him and trotted forward, his footing much surer than his brother's and feeling a swell of importance in his small chest. He slowed himself down again almost as soon as he was in front, hearing the rasp of his brother's breath behind him, and turning all his attention to listening to his steps. Loz walked at a relaxed pace, one that he could have kept up for days. He carefully chose the least aggressive looking path through the small hills before them. He looked the forest ahead of them over with a faint sneer of distaste. He really hoped these trees wouldn't be sentient and bitter. Rather than worry, he turned back to his self-assigned project of keeping Yazoo safe until he was well enough for them to be brotherly enemies again.


	4. Chapter 4

Yazoo was starting to really wish he had something on hand to gag his brother with. Loz was doing an adequate job of leading him through the landscape he couldn't see, but had managed to be quiet for all of five minutes. Then he had started talking again. It was very distracting. Although the constant blather kept this mind off the pain still flowing through him like an electric current, his brother's constant whining was becoming more and more grating as his physical anguish decreased. Yazoo's only consolation was that he was no longer falling over himself when he walked.

The small victory was easily overshadowed by how obnoxious his little brother was being. Loz had gone from exclaiming over how 'awesome' everything was to grumbling about the repetitiveness of the landscape that had previously delighted him with its inconstant nature.

"I hate walking," the boy muttered, kicking at the ground and ignoring Yazoo's answering growl, "I miss my motorcycle. This is boring. It's taking forever, and my feet hurt."

"No they don't," muttered Yazoo darkly, glaring at the smaller form ahead of him.

Loz whirled to glare at him, completely stopping their already slow advance. The boy was the only object in the barren emptiness that Yazoo could see, and, unfortunately, that left the older clone with nothing to look at but his irate little brother.

"You don't know that!" Loz snapped, glaring back at Yazoo with a petulant scowl before turning to storm off once more. "Stop telling me how I feel."

Yazoo could have strangled him. He'd been killed nearly six times, and the little bastard was whining about having sore feet. They'd barely walked at all. Even Yazoo, weak as he was, was feeling better for the travel rather than worse. He wondered if Loz knew at that moment how entirely lucky he was that Velvet Nightmare was missing. It would have been all too easy to put a hole through his little brother's heart to give him some idea of what real soreness felt like. Yazoo sighed heavily to himself, dropping the line of thinking. It might stop the complaining for a few moments, but it would also damage the boy. And frustrating though Loz was, Yazoo wouldn't wish the experience on his little brother. Even if Loz was starting to push it.

"I'm cold," Loz whined, making Yazoo grind his teeth, "I wouldn't be cold if you hadn't gotten beat up, Yazoo."

That Loz's voice could hit such a combination of high, piercingly annoying notes was thoroughly impressive to some part of Yazoo. He was certain he couldn't pitch his own voice to intentionally inflict this much pain and aggravation onto someone else.

"Loz," he grated from between clenched teeth, "shut up, or I will make you shut up."

"No you won't," the little monster challenged, glancing back at him with a sneer on his face.

Yazoo's temper flared, and he was suddenly seized with the urge to grab the boy and slam his head into the ground until he stopped twitching. He had murdered people before, and at least in the Lifestream it wouldn't kill Loz permanently. Maybe being put in his place would shut him up for five damned seconds.

Something crunched in the invisible wilderness to Yazoo's left, and he frowned. His steady pace faltered as he paused to look into the abyss of the world around him.

"Loz," he said, his voice suddenly softer, and hoping that their bickering hadn't brought more problems than a newly found urge to commit fratricide.

The young boy halted instantly and turned, his brows furrowed in confusion at the tone of his brother's voice. The fact that he gasped instantly afterwards did not exactly encourage Yazoo.

"Yaz," Loz breathed as he took a slow step closer, the annoying nickname sounding frightened and tense , "Don't move, 'kay?"

"What the hell is it," hissed Yazoo, his heartbeat thundering in his ears and paranoia overwhelming his senses.

Loz relaxed instantly, stopping his slow, careful advance and throwing his head back to shriek amused laughter to the sky. His little arms wrapped around his middle. Yazoo stared at his little brother as though he'd grown a second head.

"Nothing," the boy guffawed once he had control of himself, grinning shamelessly at Yazoo as tears of mirth brightened his eyes, "you just looked super freaked out."

"That is it!" Yazoo shrieked, his temper snapping at last.

With renewed strength born from rage, Yazoo flew at his brother, hands itching to cuff that silver-haired head. To his surprise, rather than attempt to run from his strike, Loz gasped hollowly. The boy's brows furrowed deeply, pulling his face into a worried frown. As quickly as Yazoo himself had, Loz leapt towards him, coming so close that they nearly collided in the air. Yazoo held back his strike at the bizarre reaction. He didn't even come close to hitting his brother. Loz cried out all the same, and the scent of blood hit the air.

When he touched ground again, Yazoo whirled to look at his little brother, wide-eyed. Loz was grasping his own right arm while bright red blood spilled between his small fingers from a long, ugly gash. He was facing the open air where Yazoo had been standing moments ago. With a fierce shake of his head, the look of pain fled Loz's face, replaced with vicious determination.

A screaming howl, like ripping metal, shuddered through the air, freezing Yazoo's blood in his veins. He had no idea what kind of monster made that sound, but it certainly didn't sound pleasant. He stepped forward only to have Loz extend his bloodied arm to stop him. He halted, not just because of the bold movement from his little brother. The sight of his little brother's bright blood dropping to pool unevenly on the ground, outlining the previously unseen grass there was mind-numbing. There was a lot of blood, for such a small body.

"Go away," snapped Loz fearlessly to what Yazoo assumed must have been a monster of some kind. "We see you, and we'll kill you if you try anything!"

The howl sounded again, louder still than it had been before. Yazoo could only watch as his little brother rocketed forwards, arching his back and driving a blow into thin air. Thin air which then yelped and seemed to throw the boy off, sending him flying. Loz landed on his feet with only the slightest stumble. The monster's yelp turned into a long series of cries, which receded quickly, moving away from them at great speed.

"Loz?" Yazoo queried, still gazing at the spot that Loz had attacked.

"'S gone," Loz muttered, his voice was much too quiet and strangely tense.

Yazoo instantly turned his focus back to the boy to find him gripping his forearm tightly, tears leaking from his eyes, and his teeth bared in a grimace, but making not a sound. Yazoo couldn't help but move forward. He dropped to one knee before the boy, putting them on eye level, and extended a hand.

"Let me see," he instructed his little brother.

Loz only pulled the arm closer to his chest, clutching it tightly. Yazoo could see him shivering.

"You don' wanna touch me," Loz muttered, and instantly bit his lip afterward, a soft whimper escaping past his teeth.

"Don't do that," Yazoo snapped, his face instantly twitching into a scowl. "You finally have something worth complaining about and now you're not going to? Your hand, Loz. Now."

The younger remnant flinched at the sharp words, his little eyebrows drawn down. Then he carefully shifted positions, not looking up at his brother. As Loz extended his shaking, bleeding arm, it occurred to Yazoo that for the boy to relent to the command it really must have hurt. Up until then every order he had given Loz had been met with open stubborn defiance.

He took the boy's wrist carefully in one hand, blinking when he realized he could curl his fingers all the way around the child's slim arm. He swallowed when he saw the jagged slice biting down through young flesh and muscle. Loz's arm was shaking so badly in his gentle grip he had to hold it under the elbow as well to steady it. The boy whimpered softly, but didn't say a word.

"It's not so bad," Yazoo lied smoothly, removing one of his restraining hands to run it carefully along the side of the wound.

The cut was, indeed, beginning to knit itself together, but Yazoo couldn't help fearing the amount of blood still welling up to spill onto the ground. Had Loz's healing abilities been at their normal level of efficiency, the wound would have at least scabbed over already.

Yazoo swallowed in distaste, disliking every option he had. Eventually, with a grimace, he decided he couldn't let Loz bleed to death on him. He reached around to the back of his ruined coat, his hand slick with his brother's blood. His fingers sought out one of the many rips he knew there would be in the fabric. After all, the men who had attacked him before cut his back up badly enough that he'd bled to death-surely they'd had to go through the leather to reach his skin. His thumb slipped into one cut in the leather, getting Loz's blood on his bare back beneath it. Trying not to think about that, Yazoo blindly searched out another rip before grasping them together and pulling sharply.

It took much more effort than it should have, but the leather did come free in his hand. It left a small strip of his back bare to the chilled air. More skin than he would have chosen to show, but not enough to send him into a panicked state.

"What are you doing?" Loz asked in wonder as he gaped up at him.

Yazoo only shook his head and took Loz's arm once more. It was trembling weakly under his grasp. Weakness was not something Yazoo was used to associating with Loz, and it made him even more uneasy.

"This is going to hurt," Yazoo cautioned, looking up at his brother in warning, and trying to ignore the twisting in his stomach.

He told himself that he said it more because he didn't want to have to deal with the boy complaining than because he actually cared about the discomfort. Even if it wasn't true, it helped to distance him at least a little from what was about to happen. Loz gave a little, confused nod in acceptance of his warning, and held obediently still.

Yazoo pulled the thick strip of leather taut, and took a deep breath. As quickly as he could, he pushed the two edges of the wound together, and started to the task of binding it closed. Leather wasn't know for its absorbency, but at least it would put something like constant pressure on the wound.

The gasp of pain that escaped the Loz hurt Yazoo as much as the whining had before, but in an entirely different and no-less annoying way. It pulled at his chest to watch the boy whimper and squirm, trying to hold still and be strong even as Yazoo put him in pain in order to heal him. The older remnant refused to allow himself to apologize though he did swallow heavily.

He remembered learning this, even though he knew he hadn't. He recalled having bigger, stronger hands as a frustrated red-head and a solemn ash-haired giant led him through the motions that most Soldiers were skilled in before they even joined the program. He was aware that it was Sephiroth's memory of learning first aid and not his own. For the moment, he had no choice but to accept that.

He stumbled only once or twice in the process-mainly because he remembered having been able to wrap such a wound with one hand, and it actually appeared to take three. Never the less, he did get it done. Within a few minutes Loz was clutching an inexpertly bandaged and extremely painful arm to his chest. The younger clone kept running light fingertips over the leather encasing his wound as though in awe.

Yazoo rose to his feet slowly. For a moment he felt too short, as though he'd been pressed down into a smaller body. The moment he realized what was happening, he yanked himself from Sephiroth's memory through sheer force of will, only to find himself shaking fiercely. His blood-stained fingers shivered in little spasms, sending little droplets of red-cells tumbling downwards. His hands itched to be pulled protectively to his chest, but the blood on them forestalled him. It made his stomach twist, and he had no idea why. He had never touched the blood of someone he did not despise before. He wondered briefly if Loz's blood might be venomous, thus leading to the strange reaction, then shook his head quickly to clear it of such nonsense.

Loz was still sniffling and pale. Yazoo supposed that the lack of fresh blood pooling around his feet was an improvement, but it was the only one. If anything, the soft, breathless whimpers of pain that escaped him seemed worse than before. Yazoo resisted the urge to pull the smaller boy against him in reassurance and apology. Instead he turned back to what he guessed was the direction they'd been traveling in.

"Which way?" he asked Loz calmly.

It was the first either of them had spoken since Yazoo had set to fixing the younger remnant up. Loz sniffled painfully, choking back an involuntary whine of pain. He looked around, trembling, as though he had forgotten where they were headed. Once he had gotten his bearings again, he pointed, silently, with his good arm perpendicular to where Yazoo was looking.

"I'll take the lead," Yazoo offered as he looked the direction his brother was pointing. "I think... I can make out something of where we are."

It was startling for the elder clone to realize that he could. He couldn't see much of the landscape-only the faintest slate outlines of the world around him were starting to make themselves clear-but it was enough to navigate by. Loz only nodded again, his arm still held closely to his chest. Yazoo looked at him for a long moment, feeling a stirring of unfamiliar emotion curling through his chest. Loz seemed very small, standing there shivering, with his pale face slightly grey from pain.

"If you start feeling worse," Yazoo said firmly after a long moment of silent inspection, "tell me and we'll stop."

Loz nodded silently again, and Yazoo frowned. He would have welcomed the complaining he had found so obnoxious before. The urge to scoop Loz up increased, but Yazoo refused himself once again. He was an embodiment of all that was wrong with the world and the man that had created them. The fact that he had helped his younger brother once did not erase the evils of their existence or save either of their souls. Yazoo raised a hand very briefly to settle over his blinded eye, and though the world should have gotten darker at the motion, it stayed exactly the same.

Loz's blood was starting to get sticky as it dried on his fingers. With a heavy swallow, Yazoo lowered his hand and started walking, listening to the small, weary footsteps follow behind him. The world stayed gray and empty in his sight, but he could hear the rustle of the grass under his feet as they wound through the foot hills, and feel the air drying his brother's blood on his skin. He really needed to wash it off his fingers, but he dared not turn back towards the stream. They had gone too far already. He doubted it would do more than make them lost in a new location. Not that he liked the hills particularly much. He absently realized as he walked that he really ought to have asked Loz about what sort of monster had attacked them, but the boy was finally quiet as he trudged along in his wake that he couldn't bring himself to start that flow of words.

The scenery was starting to change around them. Yazoo looked around, having to turn his head rather than glance once he realized that he could see nothing of the right side of the landscape. Short, ratty trees had sprung up on the hillsides, but the ground had not flattened. If anything, it was getting steeper. Yazoo couldn't see very far ahead, but he feared they might be approaching a mountain, and hoped he was up to the climb. Despite the renewed vigor he had felt earlier in the day, he was weary now.

He came to a decision and halted. Poor little Loz nearly bumped into his legs, and Yazoo caught himself about to mutter an apology. Instead he cleared his throat carefully, shifting.

"Let's stop for a while," he suggested softly, after another moment of silence.

"'Bout time," Loz muttered, flopping down instantly to his butt on the ground, heaving a sigh. "You were 'sposed to get tireder 'n me. Bein' seven is horrible."

Yazoo almost groaned at the re-introduction to the whining and closed his eyes. However, his brother's previously unstoppable narrative appeared to stop there. When Yazoo risked glancing down again, he found Loz already asleep with his head pillowed in the leaves and his injured arm still clasped tightly to his chest. Yazoo himself looked around them carefully once more, wishing he had materia to start them a fire in the eerily quiet forest. Nothing stood out to him in the dim forest, and though he wasn't sure if more light would help, it would have been welcome. With a sigh, he sat against the faint outline of a tree, staring upwards into the empty sky and wondering if Kadaj was looking at the same thing.

He didn't sleep, despite the bone-deep weariness gnawing at him. He didn't like sleeping, and he had too much to think about. Instead he massaged the kinks out of his body carefully, trying to ignore the limited range of vision he had. His mind was completely alert for any sounds not coming from his little brother. If he'd still been alive, he'd have been cleaning Velvet Nightmare, and listening to their mother's quiet, continuous rant, like her version of a lullaby. He missed those moments faintly, and didn't know why.

Loz shifted in his sleep, with a soft, grunt of discomfort, drawing Yazoo's attention. He wiggled around for a moment, shifting onto his back, then fell limp again in a position that could not possibly have been comfortable, splayed out in seemingly random directions. Yazoo turned back to looking around them, movements calm and smooth, but paranoia keeping him tense and aware.

He still couldn't see more than vague sketchy versions of the landscape, and he was starting to get unnerved by the dim, flat light around them. He wondered if it was unusually hard to see for Loz too, or if the obnoxious little thing would tell him that it was night time, and attempt to tease him over it. Not that he would succeed. For being created from the same stock, he was rather pathetic at rhetoric compared to both his brothers and their original.

With a long sigh, Yazoo leaned back against the tree that was solid behind him and little more than a flickering outline to his eyes. He raised his hands to run them through his long hair, then froze with them before his face, staring at the cracked blood on them. He stayed stock still, staring for a long moment before his hands started shaking and he had to look away. Some salvation this was. He was staring to wish fervently that they didn't have souls at all. If they hadn't, there wouldn't have been anything for the angry, twisted remains of the people he had murdered to hurt, and Loz wouldn't have been wounded.

"Mother," he called forlornly into the quiet night, even though he knew she was a lie too.

He hoped Loz hadn't figured it out yet, because he had a feeling the boy needed to hope that one day the woman who had created them would welcome the trio to her promise land. Yazoo had known almost from the start that it wasn't true, but he couldn't risk telling his brothers that. Their wonderful, unstable leader had nothing else to cling to but that belief, and Loz had been so incongruously naive.

Yazoo had despised his sniveling brute of a brother, and he'd refused to associate with him beyond what was absolutely necessary. The fact that they had made the perfect fighting duo made that difficult, but he was willing to do what he had to. He'd had a reason to exist—to protect their angel until the reunion came—and whatever he'd had to do in order to achieve that, he'd thought was worth it. In fact, now that he was thinking of it, he didn't know why.

He frowned, his brows furrowing, and sucked his lower lip into his mouth, biting down on it lightly and curling his legs a little closer to himself, trying to concentrate on the query and not the ache in his lower back that screamed for his attention. He couldn't indulge himself in breaking down. Not with his brother, who was invaluable until Yazoo regained his sight, asleep on the ground and still reeking of blood. The tree behind him scraped uncomfortably against the bare patch of skin on his back and he didn't know what they were cutting him with, but it felt like a rusted knife, and he just wanted to die. Yazoo sat forward, bending over on himself for just a moment and taking a long, shaking breath, trying to force himself out of the flashback.

He was supposed to be trying to figure out why he had fought so hard, he reminded himself. He remembered that it had been fun to fight the wiry Turk, who might have been a threat if he'd been as enhanced as Yazoo. He had liked his motorcycle too. He smiled a little as he remembered the combination of both his pleasures, flying through the air with a mad laugh to shoot the little Turk and his partner out of the sky. The smile vanished quickly, replaced with a faintly unhappy look. Not only had the cheater not died, he'd nearly killed Yazoo and his brother on that highway. With a bomb too, the coward.

But ignoring that unpleasantness, the fun didn't explain the drive that the three of them had shared. Kadaj knew exactly why he was doing what he did. His brother had fought relentlessly towards reunion, and his chance to meet their mother. It had never seemed to matter to him that Jenova saw him only as a sacrificial lamb-a tool she could utilize to give her first son new life.

"I offer thee this silent sacrifice," Genesis quoted for the millionth time. Sephiroth rolled his eyes, from across the room and hoped the prima donna had been too absorbed in his beloved book to notice. Yazoo jerked from the false memory with a wince, and forced himself back on target.

Loz had never appeared to have any particular investment in their task, except loneliness. He had yearned for a mother's affection, even though he had no idea what a mother's love was or what it would feel like. He had taken any opportunity to get a little closer to either brother, a purely physical and shallow creature, as far as Yazoo was concerned. Loz hadn't seemed to let much bother him. He cried when he was upset, and otherwise reveled in what enjoyment he could find in their task. Apparently hoping he would find the mother that loved them was enough of a motivator for the big brute.

But as for himself-Yazoo frowned again, and his eyes narrowed. He felt so incomplete. He could see nothing on his right side, and the lack of the input was giving him an even bigger headache than the one that remained after his beating. Why had he tried so hard?

He'd known there wouldn't be a happy ending. He wasn't sure how he'd known, but it had always been a part of him that he knew their mother was lying when she called to them in the soft, coercing voice. Her screams were real enough, but her kindness was shallow and false. Maybe a part of Sephiroth had always known it was a lie too, and he'd ended up with that part inside him. One way or another, he knew. She cared for nothing but her freedom and power, but though he knew she was lying, and would only hurt him and his brothers in the long run, he hadn't been able to turn from her. Kadaj's faith in her was like a shining light, and Yazoo had been physically unable to crush his hopes. So instead he had dedicated himself to being a stabilizer for the boy. Someone had to, and he needed a task in order to survive. In some ways, he was so very much like the man he'd been made from.

He'd know from the moment of his birth that he was created only to serve. It was his role, and he had never thought to question it. Liar or not, Jenova had given him life, however briefly, and truth be told he did love Kadaj. Even if he hadn't been made for it, he would have cared for the abrasive boy, so maybe that was the reason. He was useless, and disgusting—all the parts of Sephiroth that had made him a toy for his guards in his youth with none of the unshakable will and only a fraction of the unstoppable power—but when combined with the other two, he was worth enough to continue existing.

Loz turned over again in his sleep with a whimper, and Yazoo sighed softly. Without any clue as to the time of day, their location, or whether time actually mattered in the Lifestream or not, he had no clue when Loz would wake up again. His hands shivered in the grass, and Yazoo tried to ignore them, going back to scanning the landscape slowly, watching it flicker unsteadily like a dying street lamp in the slums of Midgar.

He clicked his tongue softly and rose, forcing his body into a fluid movement rather than the jerking, halting motion it wanted. If he wanted to still be useful when they found Kadaj, he would have to shape up. After all, he had never had time for regrets like their 'brother' Cloud buried himself in. Whatever happened would happen, regardless of whether anyone deserved it or not.

He remembered the reek of stigma tearing the children they had gathered to shreds, and the sight of broken, twisted, oozing bodies in the gutters and shrugged to himself. As far as he was concerned, it was evil for evil. There was a quote, he remembered vaguely, about eyes and teeth. The memory was at the edge of his mind where no doubt normal people had childhoods, and where for him the disjointed pieces of Sephiroth lay in wait. He shook it off and busied himself figuring out how to compensate for the lack of an eye, and the fact that the partner he had fought with as though they shared a mind was now seven years old, wounded, and apparently sucking his thumb.

Yazoo looked closer and raised his eyebrows. Yes, Loz was definitely sucking his thumb. With a heavy sigh, the older boy bit down the urge to wake him or put a stop to it, citing the current blissful silence as his reason and refusing to believe it could be anything more than self-preservation that stayed his hand. In no way shape or form did he care what his brother was feeling at that moment, or regret being unable to bring himself to pull that small form into his arms and tell him it would be okay. One would need a real soul, untarnished by the hatred of worlds, in order to touch a child in such an affectionate way. Yazoo was more inclined to smother him while he slept to save him the suffering.

Ignoring the impulsive, emotional part of himself Yazoo bent, stretching out the tightness in his muscles that death had incurred. He felt strange, and pulled, and exhausted beyond belief, but he refused to let it get to him again. The flashbacks to this latest trauma were bearable, so he would bear them, as he always had. He allowed his thoughts to calm, pushing the part of him that screamed denial at all that had happened into a corner and closing himself to it.

Loz murmured in his sleep consistently, and Yazoo didn't let it distract him from forcing his wounded body through the rigorous stretches he had never learned but had always known. He was finding it faintly enjoyable to move, though he fought back pain with every motion. When the boy started whimpering in his sleep, Yazoo looked over to him from where he had settled in a back bend, trying to work through the clenching in his chest. The younger remnant looked disturbed by something, and Yazoo scowled faintly, trying to rise smoothly out of the position and instead ending up slumping to the ground with a grumble of annoyance before walking over, his curiosity piqued.

Loz was crying in his sleep, with his young eyes squeezed shut, and his cheeks flushed with unhappiness. The soft whimpering sobs escaping him made Yazoo's teeth ache with their tinny quality. Despite the annoyance, Yazoo restrained his anger, remembering the intensely concentrated look Loz had gotten on his face while protecting him from the monster. He grimaced at the memory, but was no other way to think of it. Yazoo had already tried to come up with another reason for Loz's behavior while forcing his stiff legs into doing a split. Loz had fought a monster to protect him-obnoxiously enough. With a put-upon sigh Yazoo crossed his arms and decided they had been in one place more than long enough.

"Loz," he called, his voice just a little sharp, to garner the boy's attention.

Loz whimpered again and turned completely over, then yelped, jerking into awareness when he managed to hit his wounded arm on the ground beneath him. Yazoo fought back the urge to openly laugh at him, but a snicker still got past his guard. Loz sat up, cradling the arm to himself, and glowered at Yazoo as though the ground itself was entirely his brother's fault. The bleary sleep-stained quality of the look did not help its impressiveness in the slightest, and moments later Loz had to break off the glare to yawn widely and rub at both his eyes with his good hand, still managing to look utterly exhausted.

"We need to go," Yazoo said calmly, not bothering to fight the amusement out of his voice.

Loz blinked up at him again. His left eye was still at a weary half-mast, as though trying to fall sneakily back asleep. If it hadn't been Loz, Yazoo thought, it would have been quite adorable.

"Wha time 's it?" Loz slurred, rubbing at his eyes once more and wincing faintly.

Yazoo frowned. By all accounts, his brother's arm ought to have healed by now, but since he had his own blindness and an ache that didn't seem willing to ever disappear, he supposed things must be different in the Lifestream.

"I have no idea," he answered haughtily, scoffing slightly at the boy to cover his nerves at the situation. "Get up before I leave you behind, and be happy I woke you up at all."

Loz scowled fiercely and stood, trying to hide his flinch at the movement. It took him a painstakingly long time to totter to his feet, and for a moment he swayed dangerously. Yazoo almost took a step forward to help him. However, the moment Loz was firmly on his feet, he stomped first one foot, then the other, indignantly.

"You're so mean!" he howled, the cry turning into a yawn before he managed to reach the final 'n.'

Yazoo rolled his eyes and turned, sauntering off into the dimly flickering landscape, and hoping there were no invisible bushes in his path. His fingers twitched, skin pulled uncomfortably by the coating of dried blood that still had not flaked off. He heard Loz scramble from his 'stomping ground' to catch up, and Yazoo quickly tuned him out. He was eager for the movement of walking, almost as though getting more distance between himself and where he'd arrived might make it less horrible. Not that he was sure they were going away from that place and not towards it, but he had a feeling the loquacious little hellion following him would have mentioned the steep, abrupt hills they were crossing in his 'epic' tale of following Angeal.

He went on quickly, fast enough to make his little brother have to work to keep up. Keeping him struggling was proving to be a particularly effective method of keeping him quiet. Rather than concentrating on his brother, Yazoo's attention was focused on trying to avoid the trees and shrubs he could only barely see. The longer he stared at the scenery, the less clear it became, so after a while he forced himself not to stare at it. Instead he focused his other senses on the land. They would need to be trained anyway, now that he had one useless eye, and one useless brother. Behind him, he heard Loz manage to trip on his own feet and let out an explosion of muttered sentiments, almost all of them including hatred towards a certain root that apparently had been his downfall, quite literally.

He sighed softly and went back to his business of ignoring his younger brother as the curses faded to quiet, childish panting. Yazoo, of course, was really in no position to comment as he had been tripping on invisible land features and getting scratched by branches along his left cheek all day. Why the eye he could see out of was the one that appeared incapable of detecting them was beyond him, but that was how it worked. Fortunately, he hadn't managed to fall over or run head on into any of the stealth trees yet. His legs burned slightly, but as ever, something spurred him onwards. Maybe it was just the force of habit, telling him that he ought to be doing something, as he had been for the entire two and a half weeks of his life, but he felt like there was something to be gained ahead of them. Something was calling to him.

"Yazoo," gasped the small voice behind him.

Yazoo let out a puff of disappointed breath. A couple hours without Loz whining or talking was pretty impressive, but he could have done with a couple more.

"What?" he snapped at his younger brother, neither slowing his pace nor looking behind himself.

There was a smell on the air he was trying to identify, and he was much more interested in that than whatever Loz had to complain about. There was a long break, filled by the kid's soft whimpering breaths, and Yazoo was briefly hopeful that Loz had given up on whatever point he had to make. The reality, of course, was nothing of the like.

"I don' feel so good," Loz gasped behind him, the words catching in his throat and coming out high pitched and nearly sobbing.

Yazoo froze and turned. The moment his eyes lit on his brother, Loz sagged to the ground in a dead faint. His eyes rolled back in his head and his small form collapsed in a bony heap on the rough undergrowth of the forest floor. For a moment, Yazoo was too shocked to do anything but stare at where his little brother had been standing and now lay.

"Loz?" he called softly.

There was no reply but the hitching, uneven breaths pulling themselves from the bundle of leather and silver hair on the ground. He stepped forward, cautiously, and moved around until he could see the boy's face only to find it scrunched in pain and slightly grey tinted. Yazoo swallowed and stood still as a tree himself for a while before slowly lowering to one knee and reaching out a shaking hand to touch the boy's pulse. Before, the few times he had touched him, Loz had always felt like a furnace—like Yazoo was touching pure fire in human flesh. But now he was cold, and his pulse was as quick as a rabbit's under his skin. Yazoo looked down to his wounded arm and saw that the boy's hand had thick trails of blood traced along it from where he had bled during the long trek.

Guilt rose unexpected and unbidden in Yazoo, and left him breathless and nauseous for a moment. The boy was sick, and weakened, and he had worried about silence? He sat back, withdrawing his trembling hand from the pale, cold neck, and his brows twisting as he tried to decide what to do. The landscape seemed to be flickering more wildly and infrequently around him, as though he was loosing whatever knack there was to seeing it. He was at fault for his brother's exhaustion, and knew without a doubt he should have checked on the wound before they left. He hadn't even taken note of how much blood stained the ground where Loz had slept. At the very least, he should have taken it slow, and easy, to give the boy time to recover, but he had been filled with that bizarre drive, and it had taken his focus completely.

He swallowed heavily, staring at the little trembling body before him, and tried to force his brain to think. He was finding it incredibly difficult not to panic at the sight of his little brother's distress, and a part of him was stuck wondering why. He hadn't liked Loz, and didn't know him, or particularly want to, so the fact that he was frightened for him made little sense. The fact that it made no sense did not, however, make it less real. He was terrified by that halting breathing and the minuscule, thundering heartbeat that seemed fast enough to shake the little frame of the boy to pieces. But his fear wasn't in the least bit helpful. He couldn't do anything with it. It was paralyzing, and frustrating, and every time he tried to think it rose up inside him. It wasn't just fear for Loz's health, because he was aware that the Lifestream would probably bring him back, even if he died. It was fear brought on by the fact that one way or another, Yazoo was going to have to touch the boy again. He hated that as well as fearing it. He had hoped to avoid contact, but the more he though of it the more inevitable it became.

He could stay and rest, but that appeared only to have made Loz the worse for wear, and didn't seem to have done particularly well in healing him. He could try to wake the boy and pull him onwards, hoping that an easier pace would let him regain his strength, but that was unlikely to work. He needed to get them to safety, if there was such a thing to be found in the tainted Lifestream they were trapped in.

He would have to carry the boy. His stomach twisted in rebellion at the very idea, but it was the only sensible thing to do. He was aware that people carried children all the time, but it was different with him. Yazoo could feel the taint of darkness he carried on his skin, like a layer of oil. He didn't want to touch Loz. He hadn't touched him when they were alive either, but that had been because the bigger clone had been physically intimidating and dominating. It had put Yazoo ill at ease to be near him, much less touch him. But things were very different for them now.

Here, in the Lifestream, Loz was small, and full of annoying, innocent charm, though he was certainly as obnoxious as ever. Yazoo found he didn't want to corrupt him with his touch, even if it was to help him. Not if he had a choice. Unfortunately, the choices were dwindling fast. Yazoo looked towards the small trail he had been following to find the faint image he could see slowly fading away. The clock was running out. He gulped once, then forbade himself to question any more, rubbing his hands against the leather sides of his long jacket, trying to rid them of the invisible taint he perceived on himself. It didn't work in the slightest-the dark corruption clung to him as firmly as ever-but it did at least flake away some of Loz's dried blood.

He carefully laid a hand on both of his brother's shoulders, to test the contact, and frowned a little at the lack of response. In his mind, the contact ought to have warranted some cosmic reaction. Instead, Loz only twitched a little, his eyelids fluttering ever so slightly in unconsciousness.

Yazoo lifted the boy carefully and quickly, before the universe changed its mind. He slid a shaking hand under his brother's knees, lifting him horizontally to the ground. He flinched as he did so at the unfamiliar strain it put on his bruised and battered body. A soft whimper escaped Loz before the boy went still and silent once again.

Despite the obvious pain the boy was going through, nothing dramatic took place when Yazoo cradled him fully in his arms. No gods attempted to strike him down where he stood. No hero showed up, sword blazing, to save his brother's innocent soul from corruption. Loz was so deeply unconscious, he didn't even seem to notice the monster Yazoo hid under his pretty skin. It was almost anti-climactic.

Yazoo put aside his musings for a more pedestrian purpose. The hold he had on his brother was awkward, and Yazoo was quite certain he wouldn't be able to keep it up for long. He shifted, juggling the small bundle of his brother. Loz was just big enough to be cumbersome in his arms, loose and slack-limbed. Yazoo frowned deeply in concentration as he attempted to figure out an effective configuration. He briefly wished he knew how mothers managed to carry their children.

This time, there was no help from Sephiroth's memories. Unsurprisingly, the great Silver General had never learned much about child-rearing. However, Yazoo himself had a vague recollection of a girl in the city—one of the hundreds of stigma waifs, carrying a smaller boy on one hip. With a scowl of concentration, he mimicked the position, brushing off the distaste part of him felt at actually learning from one of their imperfect siblings. 

The moment Yazoo had settled into the new hold, Loz curled against his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. Yazoo carefully looped both the smaller boy's arms around his neck to give himself better balance and make sure his little brother's head wouldn't dangle awkwardly as they walked. It was surprisingly natural, and he could keep the boy stable with just one arm hooked under his legs. With a nod of satisfaction, and a stern warning to himself not to freak out, Yazoo started walking, with an added fifty pounds on one hip. There was bile in his throat, and panic curled tightly around his lungs, almost choking him, but he tried to ignore those things. They were only shadows of the petrifying fear overwhelming him, that he had might ruin the only thing he stood a chance of saving.

As he left the clearing Loz had collapsed in, the vague sights of the world around him vanished completely. Yazoo was left in a cloud of nothingness that he could not afford to stop for. Blindly, he reached out with his free hand to stave off any trees that might attack without warning. He swallowed hard once more, pausing for a long moment before forcing himself to move forward. He needed to get them somewhere. If there was anywhere to go. Somehow, he deeply doubted that Angeal would show up to rescue Loz. It was a shame, really. Loz was much closer to being worth Angeal's effort than Yazoo, and deserved the help so much more. After all, he had only gotten hurt keeping Yazoo from being killed again.

Yazoo remembered, with a chill, watching his brother's forearm stretch forward to take the impact of the monster's claw. In retrospect, he could almost map out the attack, and where the strike would have landed without his brother's interference. Yazoo raised a slim hand to his neck, quite sure that having his throat slashed open would have been no less painful than any of the other deaths he had experienced.

Loz shifted on his hip, tightening his arms, and Yazoo winced slightly. He hadn't noticed before, but Loz seemed to be all joints and ribs. He was a slim, gangly child. It didn't appear to matter how settled he was. His knees would still dig into Yazoo's legs and stomach, and his elbows would still worm their way over his collar bones before jamming inwards with a shift of sleep, drawing a grunt from the stoic elder clone. It was truly amazing how he managed to be obnoxious even in unconsciousness. In spite of the annoyances, there was something Yazoo liked about carrying the boy. Frustrating as he was, it was honestly good to feel Loz's heart beating against his shoulder, and the rush of warm breath that touched his neck with his brother's every exhale.

He was distracted enough by the strange sensation that, for a moment, he forgot that he had no idea where he was going and tripped rather spectacularly. He clung tightly to Loz, fighting not to drop the boy, or fall on him. Instead he took the fall on his knee, hard. While it kept his little brother safe, the jarring impact clacked his teeth together and made his knee scream in pain. He stayed there on one knee for a moment, rather lost as to what just happened. He let out a shaking breath, blinking once or twice, then forced himself to stand up again. He walked on, now with a pronounced limp on his left leg and a grimace of discomfort. The Lifestream, it appeared, had it out for him big time.

Loz shivered in his arms and coughed softly, the sound rattling in his lungs. Yazoo flinched, hyper-aware of his proximity to the boy and hoping he wasn't about to catch whatever was wrong with little Loz. He hissed in frustration under his breath when he realized that he'd just used the insult of a nickname affectionately. He didn't want anyone else to protect. He didn't want someone else in his life to abandon and betray him, even if that was Sephiroth talking and not him. He honestly wasn't sure.

He'd only ever had three people to count on. Mother and Kadaj were gone—the very thought made him whimper softly and choke back tears—and now Loz was limp and shivering against his side. Meanwhile, he himself was carrying his brother clumsily across the invisible mountain, his calves burning as he climbed ever upwards, and his arm starting to wear out already at the unusual effort involved in carrying an unconscious seven year old.

He swallowed, and stopped long enough to maneuver Loz to his other hip, finding the boy remarkably compliant, allowing himself to be shifted with only the softest of muttered protests that made Yazoo's blood run cold. The smell from before was stronger now, and he glanced down at the injured arm below his chin in horror. The wounded forearm smelled sickly sweet and fruit-like, and he knew exactly what that smell meant. He remembered the smell of infection. It wasn't the stigma-that held a smell more like rotten meat than anything. It was a normal, human infection that, so far as he knew and remembered, shouldn't be possible for beings made like them. Loz whimpered again, and Yazoo swallowed, brow furrowed and confused beyond belief.

As he staggered ever upwards, fighting against the invisible landscape to anticipate the stones in his path and the sudden, slick patches of thick leaves on the ground, Yazoo started to feel bitter. It was more energizing than agony or weariness or misery, and frankly, he was well aware it was deserved. He hated his life-death-whatever. The next branch that scratched his cheek, he snatched in his free hand and snapped in half for revenge. He had never asked to be responsible for a sick seven year old boy. He hadn't wanted to be created in the middle of a crater, with a team of Turks all but landing on their laps. He hadn't asked for his mother, or for Sephiroth's memories to invade his consciousness. And gods knew he had not asked for the vicious self-loathing, which could either have been some further shard of Sephiroth's personality, or one of his own. He had never been entirely sure.

He took another step, and found nothing there for his foot to land on. He let out a rather embarrassingly loud half-grunt half-yelp that echoed softly in the invisible world as he dropped. Despite being forced into a half split, he managed to keep himself mostly balanced, save for the long leg now hanging off the side of what appeared to be a cliff. He froze there, delicately balanced between oblivion and safety.

He took a moment, to stare down at the invisible ground in fear. He was trembling and breathless, his heartbeat pounding through him. A soft, choked whimper next to his ear brought him back to reality. He had grabbed Loz in a death grip to keep him stable. He instantly relaxed one of his hands, letting air rush back into the child's lungs. The younger brother instantly lost himself to a coughing fit, which wracked his body and threatened to remove his brother's precarious balance. Yazoo, jerked and hauled them both backwards away from the edge, splaying on his back with his younger brother held close. Loz curled up tightly at his side, head still pillowed on his chest. Yazoo was dumbstruck by exactly how close he'd come to whatever lay over that bluff. It could, he supposed, only have been a couple of feet. But it could also have been much farther. The complete horror of not knowing was worse than any certain fear. He barely registered that he'd started petting Loz's hair soothingly, wiping damp bangs back from his sweaty forehead.

"Well," a rough voice said.

Yazoo stiffened instantly, his hands going still and his eyes darting around, and finding, as ever, nothing. He swallowed heavily and shifted, placing his brother carefully on the ground and rising to his knees, refusing to wince at the bruise that cried out in pain at the position. He looked around them carefully, listening intently for any sound of another mob attack. Instead he heard a solitary, gritty chuckle.

"Another silver-haired freak come to terrorize us country folk."

Yazoo swallowed heavily, swinging his head to stare towards the voice, and still could see nothing. His fists clenched at his sides. If it was just one man, he wouldn't go down without a fight, blind or not. He gave Loz's hair a fleeting stroke as he rose to his full height, turning to face the invisible opponent. He strained to hear the man's breath before realizing that, if the man was dead, he wouldn't necessarily need to breathe. Loz did, and he himself didn't want to try stopping again any time in the near future, but they were unusual to say the least. There was no guarantee that his opponent required breath. He licked his lips briefly, then shot himself a mental scowl for the display of tension.

"You're a pretty thing," the rough voice continued.

Yazoo whirled, eyes narrowing as he tracked the voice to a different position, stepping over his little brother's curled form to more effectively stand as a guard. The little bundle of joints and annoyance he was protecting continued to shiver on the ground, grating coughs wringing themselves from him almost every four breaths. Yazoo waited for the strength to speak, his own breath unbearably loud in his ears, his heart in his throat, and the shaken realization that he didn't know where the cliff stopped.

When a hand grabbed his arm he lashed out, and struck air. He could have screamed. He had forgotten, with Loz so firmly held against him and the warmth of his skin, that he had yet to be able to touch anyone but Loz, even to strike them. That laugh sounded again, and Yazoo struggled for all he was worth, unable to touch the hand gripping his arm, but intent on getting his hand out of the hold. Every warning bell in his mind was going off—he wanted to scream, and beg for help from his mother, Kadaj, Sephiroth, anyone. But the only person he had was Loz, pale and trembling, and he was not going to sacrifice the boy.

His panic evaporated all of a sudden, and reformed into a grim resolve before Yazoo even realized what had happened. Protecting himself was one thing, but the bastard holding his wrist would not touch Loz. With a flash of clever eyes, and a brief prayer to no one in particular, Yazoo took two quick steps away from his brother. The man jerked after him, letting out a startled sound, but not releasing his grip on Yazoo's arm. And then Yazoo let himself drop off the edge.

His forearm snagged on the top of the bluff, as he had hoped, his aim perfect. The man fell past him, as Yazoo had hoped, but he didn't loose his grip. There was a jarring rip of muscle in his back as his left shoulder was pulled out of socket by the weight of the man now dangling from the remnant's arm. Yazoo let out a shriek of pain, then grit his teeth against it, his breath coming in shallow gasps. His muscles screamed with effort, and before he could run out of strength, he forced himself to start scrambling back up the bluff, supported only by one arm and shoulder. His feet fought to find any holds on the sides of the cliff he couldn't see to push against.

"H-hey, wait!" cried the voice of the man below him as a second hand gripped his limp, injured arm.

Yazoo ground his teeth together, growling in effort as he hauled himself up, trying to get far enough to get his ribs over the lip. If he just had that much leverage, he could get himself the rest of the way over, and back onto firm ground.

"I wasn' gunna hurt you," the gruff, masculine voice called, "I only, uh, want-wanted to help! Yeah! You and that kid looked, lost, so," he went on, but Yazoo refused to listen.

The man's grip was as firm as ever, and the stranger was far too close to him. The adrenaline that filled him might run out at any moment, and he knew he wouldn't be able to get back to Loz without it. He let his fear of the man's touch, and the brutality he knew lay beneath the blabbering, desperate lies spewing from his lips, spur him onwards. He cried out in effort, his brows furrowed and teeth bared, unable to keep his eyes open as he threw every ounce of strength he had left into lifting the weight of two men with one arm. He managed to get his ribs onto the solid ground, and almost instantly his arm gave out. The weight on his arm pulled him down, driving the breath from his lungs and making his eyes water with exertion. He clung by his fingertips to the ground, fighting not to slide back down off the cliff once more. He couldn't do this. The man had gone back to laughing below him.

"Fine, then, I'm game to fall with you, pretty! Won't be a fuckin' cliff at the bottom to stop me!" the man called up, and Yazoo felt him swing himself, kicking his legs out to try and drag him down.

He whimpered, and fought the call of gravity. He opened his eyes to gaze at his prone brother, feeling the jerk on his ruined arm, and distancing himself from the feeling. Loz was shivering so hard it looked like he was convulsing, and Yazoo needed to get to him. Screw the man on his arm and his paralyzing fear of the bottom of that cliff. Even if he failed, what would happen. He'd get killed—big deal, he'd been killed five and a half times already. He'd get raped—again, nothing he hadn't withstood before. He didn't need to think about that right now. He needed to get up the cliff, and he was the best at accomplishing the task before him. Of course he could.

He forced himself to take a deep breath, his lungs burning. The moment he had inhaled, he heaved himself upwards, managing to catch a knee on the ledge, and then slipped again, the hard cliff edge bruising his knee. He dangled once more before giving a final lurch, letting loose a roar of effort. He got his leg on the ledge again, and this time he caught it. He choked back a grunt as he hauled the rest of himself up.

He spared only a moment to catch his breath before turning cold eyes to the invisible body he could feel trying to tug him downward. Yazoo narrowed his eyes as he hauled his useless arm up with the other. He grabbed his own wrist, unable to touch the stranger's hands, but pretty certain he knew what would. He slammed his own wrist into the ground, and smiled in wicked satisfaction at the panicked shout of the man below him as his hands where slammed against the cliff's edge. The bruising grip of the man's fingers suddenly fumbled off his wrists. Yazoo laughed to himself, the sound crazed and half-mad as he realized the man had grabbed the ledge himself. Just because Yazoo couldn't touch his attacker's hands didn't mean he couldn't touch the ground. He stood, every inch of him shaking, and stomped the ground hard.

The earth at the cliff's edge where he had scrambled up was already weakened. At his stomp, it gave way, nearly taking him with it again. The man screamed, shrilly compared to his manly voice. Yazoo stumbled back, staring, as the scream went on and on, getting further away. Finally, it ended in silence.

Yazoo stood wounded and panting over the crevice, staring down at the emptiness into which his attacker had fallen. He briefly and distantly considered how to reset his shoulder, which would have done nothing to heal the damaged muscles but might have made it dangle less disturbingly. Then with a rush of memory, he shoved away such mundane thoughts and turned, darting back to his brother's side. His breath was heavy in his lungs, as he slid a hand over his brother's cheek. He was brutally interrupted when cold metal pressed against his neck.

"I wouldn't move if I was you, boy," growled an older man's voice.

Yazoo's eyes widened and he tensed, as the man behind him grabbed his wounded shoulder roughly. The pain of the grip was not enough to kill the protective instincts his brother's breathy whimpers were rousing. Loz was breathing in half-sobs, wracked by tremors, and drooling a little, his mouth open to get as much air as possible. Yazoo forced himself to relax, defeated, and spoke the only words he could think of, brought on by Sephiroth's wisdom, as it was.

"Do what—you want to me," he grated between breaths, the words like poison on his lips. "Just leave my brother be." 

"Wrists together, you little bastard," The rough voice instructed coldly as the hand on Yazoo's shoulder jerked him back, drawing a hiss of pain from the young remnant.

"I can't," he gasped, trying desperately to think through his panic.

All thoughts left his mind when the hand clamped on his injured shoulder released him for a moment, only to grab his wrist, shoving his damaged arm behind his back. He was completely blinded, even to the sight of his brother, by a flash of white-hot pain. The first thing he heard when he returned from the brink of unconsciousness was the racking slide of a shotgun being prepared to fire.

"Gruber," said a firm older female voice, "get away from the boys before I fill you up with little holes."

Yazoo tried to fight the urge to give in, slump to the ground by his brother, and abandon hope. If he was no good against a knife, he was hopeless with a gun in the mix. Then the words registered and he furrowed his brow in confusion as well as pain. The knife on his neck twitched just a little at the words.

"He just pushed my son off a cliff, and you're threatening to shoot me, you crazy bitch?" screamed the man holding Yazoo's injured arm.

Yazoo felt the knife bite into the joint of his shoulder and neck, sending a stream of blood down his back. Loz gave a soft, delirious moan, shifting slowly on the ground before them, and Yazoo fixed his gaze on him.

"Loz," Yazoo called softly to him, his voice cracking just a little.

The man behind him shook him in retribution for the softly spoken call. Yazoo gasped at the pain that shot through his shoulder. His eyes burned with tears at the rough contact.

"Gruber, you hurt that boy one more time, and I'll send _you_ off the cliff," the woman before them snapped coldly.

Yazoo looked up in her direction in confusion and exhaustion, and was stunned to see a flicker of something there. The hand on his wrist tightened briefly, and Yazoo closed his eyes, expecting pain, only to gasp slightly as the knife left his flesh and his arm was roughly released. He ignored the pain, and the drama going on before and behind him to slide closer to his brother. He stroked his working hand over Loz's bangs and called softly to him, distraught by his pain, and utterly confused and helpless. He ran his trembling fingers over Loz's sweat-soaked cheek, half-delirious from exhaustion and stress, and completely forgetting his qualms about touching the boy. When he heard the man, cursing, storm away, he risked looking up again, through the fall of hair over his face.

He could still see the faintest outline of the woman past his own silver locks. She was a thin, rather short woman, with a sketch of a gun in her hands. As he watched, she huffed fiercely and stormed over, her long skirt flaring about her legs, and Yazoo tensed, feeling abused muscles coil under his skin, more than prepared to attack the small woman to protect his little brother. Instead, the woman stopped just before them, throwing the safety catch on her weapon.

"Here we are then," she said with a hard, uncompromising edge to her voice.

Yazoo found the gun passed briskly into his arms, and almost dropped the weapon, too perplexed by the woman to keep up with what she was doing. His one working arm burned, severely over-worked from hauling him up over the cliff's edge.

"Hold that," the woman said firmly as she walked past Yazoo.

Yazoo clutched the gun to his chest without thought, still gaping at her and too startled by being handed his enemy's gun to even think of turning it on her. The moment he'd touched it, the vague outline of a gun took on weight and texture. Though he was involved in watching the woman with wide eyes, he was aware that the gun cradled in his left arm was quite visible now.

Instead, he watched the stranger lower a careful hand to his brother's forehead. Loz stilled under her firm touch, still gasping for breath, but no longer writhing on the ground. She gave a soft hum that was at once approval towards the boy's cooperation and dislike of what she was feeling. Yazoo licked his lips, and watched the color bleed into her hair as she became clearer and clearer to him. He wondered if he'd be able to touch her now—be able to wring that slight neck if she didn't step away from his brother. Even if he couldn't, it was her gun he was holding, and surely that could hit her. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure why she wasn't dead yet. Her face suddenly lifted, and he was pinned by a steely gray-eyed glare.

"You get your mind of that track," she advised rather sharply. "And see if you can't stand up. We'll need to get off the biggest bloody cliff in the Nibel Mountains before you two are even remotely safe from prying eyes. Honestly, what did you think you were doing?"

As she spoke, she never once moved her gaze. Yazoo shrunk back under her glare, despite the weapon in his hand and the fact that he was certainly stronger than the woman, wounded though he was. It wasn't her physical power that was imposing. It was the fact that, the more clearly he saw her, the more terrifyingly strong-willed she seemed. He licked his lips to respond, finding himself, startlingly, compelled to tell her the truth, only to be interrupted when the look on her face changed to one of worry.

"Oh dear," she said, sounding slightly disappointed, and with a soft, warm tinge to her voice.

To Yazoo's slight horror, she reached up to touch her free hand to his right cheek. He jerked away quickly, but not before noticing the heat of her fingertips against his skin. He ducked his chin, and sent his hair sliding in front of his damaged eye again, but it was too late to hide it from the woman. Rather than reacting in violence, or cooing in that disgusting faux-motherly way Jenova always had when one of them was hurt, she crossed her arms briefly, removing her touch from Loz's forehead, and studying him with a dark scowl.

"I really shouldn't be surprised you've both managed to get yourselves in trouble, but I am." she clucked, shaking her head.

Yazoo didn't respond, holding utterly still, just now starting to shake from the over-exertion. The woman waited a moment, as though expecting him to speak, then heaved a sigh. She slid an arm under Loz's shoulders, making the boy whimper softly in pain. Yazoo started forward, a low growl in his throat, ready to kill the woman, but was stopped once again by her flint-like glare.

"You think you can take care of him alone?" she asked him sharply, her lips brought together tightly in disapproval.

Yazoo looked down silently at his brother, watching him shiver and curl against the woman as she lifted him carefully. He swallowed down unease at watching his brother be touched by a stranger, and observed in faint, uncomfortable awe as the small woman managed to stand and get his brother settled on her hip without trouble. He could see her as vividly as he could Loz, now, and looked her over slowly—the muted colors she wore, her thin frame, and the slightly unruly blonde hair carefully bound behind her neck all reminded him strongly of something, and the powerful gaze only furthered that impression. He rose slowly to his feet, still holding her gun one-armed and feeling the weight of it drag on his exhausted muscles. She nodded sharply in approval and turned to walk down the hill. The moment her eyes left his, Yazoo found his voice again.

"Who are you?" he asked, wincing at the grating quality of the words he had intended to be smooth and dangerous.

She paused, and looked back to him, over the shoulder Loz was not resting on. A rather grim smile slid over her lips, and a hint of pride shone in her fierce eyes.

"You," she said, with a slight emphases, implying this was a rule made specifically for him, "may call me Mrs. Strife."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Yazoo was trying to hold back the scream building in his throat. He knew who this woman was. He just wasn't sure yet whether she knew who exactly he and his brother were, but he was out of options. If he betrayed himself as her son's murderer, he had no doubt he would lose Loz. The boy was doubtlessly sick, and Yazoo was feeling less than himself. He had been too roughly used in his brief life, and things only seemed to have grown worse in the lifestream. He felt like a candle smothering as it ran out of wax to burn—guttering before he vanished. He was startled, but unspeakably relieved that Mrs. Strife had allowed him to follow behind her, even though he was holding her gun. She wouldn't have, he was certain, if she knew what Yazoo had done to her son. As it stood, for the first time since he died, Yazoo was lucky. She hadn't so much as mentioned the name 'Cloud,' and the longer it stayed that way, the better it was for the silver-haired brothers.

Yazoo looked at his little brother's limp form where he was draped over one of the small woman's shoulders, and watched his eyelids flicker as he dreamed, or hallucinated, or whatever it was you called what he was doing. The more time passed, the more of the sickly sweet infection Yazoo could smell drifting back to him, but he dared not speak his fears to the stranger. If Loz died, he assured himself, he would awaken again. If Yazoo had done so, surely others could. It would have been a very comforting thought if Yazoo believed it, but he assumed he knew Gaia better than that. More likely, he had been revived so that he could be tortured that much longer.

He forbade himself too consider the fact that he didn't like Loz in the slightest. It didn't matter if he was fond of him or not. They were meant to work together, and so work together they would. To lose him now, even obnoxious and useless as he was would have been devastating, if only for selfish reasons. However, even as he considered it, he knew that Loz was far from useless. The annoying little child had saved his life twice. 

Before him, Mrs. Strife hitched Loz up, and patted the boy on the back lightly when he groaned in pain. Yazoo ground his teeth, even his jaw beginning to hurt from the number of times he had clenched it in recent memory. He knew from experience that his face would remain impassive even as he tensed. Only Kadaj was able to read Yazoo's shifting emotions. At once the sweetest and most twisted of the trio, Kadaj had honestly tried to care about his brothers. He had even attempted to fill the gaping hole in his heart by creating a veritable army of little siblings to work for them. All for nothing, in the end.

The wooden stock of the shotgun was warm under his functional arm, and the cold steel of the muzzle bumped his neck where he had thrown the formidable firearm over his shoulder to spare his aching muscles some strain. He had, previously, rather enjoyed his experiences with cliffs, but that opinion had now changed. He decided firmly that he would no longer enjoy anything to do with ledges that did not involve a motorcycle. Preferably one that he was riding. His shoulder burned and each step brought a new wave of agony from it. He needed to reset the bone, but couldn't risk stopping to do so. If he lost sight of his brother, he doubted if he'd be able to catch up without falling off the nearest ledge and ending up broken beyond repair. 

He stumbled, and barely managed to catch himself. He heard a couple of the rocks he had disrupted with the movement skitter off a nearby edge. Mrs. Strife didn't even look back, and Yazoo straightened painstakingly, forcing his feet to continue their weary trudge. At least the scramble at the cliff side had managed to clean Loz's blood off his fingers, replacing it with dirt and his own blood. It was far from comfortable, and his broken fingernails stung fiercely in the dry air, but it was infinitely preferable. He raised weary eyes to his brother, too exhausted to bother trying to push the hair from his face, and relatively certain it wouldn't do much good anyway. As he stared at Loz's semi-peaceful face as though it was a beacon in the dark. There was his reason not to collapse where he stood.

He tried to lock his knees to keep himself from falling, but found that the movement was impossible. He couldn't even force his legs to straighten that much. Despite himself, a ragged cough escaped him, and the fact that he fought it only made it that much worse, and more painful. He had to stop for a moment, to gasp in deep breaths of dry air, which only worsened the burn in his throat. The gun was shivering in his hold, and the wood was slightly slippery from his blood. When he finally managed to straighten again, still listening to the rattle of breath in his own lungs, it was to find the Strife woman giving him a very interesting look. He froze on the spot, but when he looked up she only nodded. Her expression was much calmer than it had been.

"Not too much farther," she soothed.

Yazoo couldn't decide whether to bristle at the implication that he couldn't have gone much longer, or melt with relief that he wouldn't have to. He settled for meeting her gaze silently. His lips felt dry and cracked, and he was certain he wouldn't have been able to speak in anything more than a rasp. He did not want to show this woman his weakness. Loz gave a low moan in his sleep, and then a soft whimper, and the woman set back to walking. Yazoo's gut turned as she reached up a hand to pet Loz's hair. She hadn't even had to switch hips yet. This was the mother of the man who was responsible for their deaths. Hatred was a wonderfully familiar feeling, and it drove him forward more effectively than resignation had before. He was not leaving his brother with this woman.

He lost track of how long they walked. He phased out everything but the burning rage in his sternum, which may or may not have been partially left-over pain. His heartbeat was labored, and with each pump the organ felt compelled to remind him that it was incredibly unhappy with the abuse it had suffered through. He watched the small booted feet of the woman stride confidently across nothing before him, and stumbled down the path after her. If it was a path at all. It might have been a highway for all he could see. Another whimper made his gaze twitch upwards just for a moment to alight on his little brother, and the faintest sliver of green met his gaze.

**Loz**

Loz wished he could say he was floating in blissful, bleary numbness. What he was doing instead was suffering, which wasn't nearly as much fun for anyone involved. His arm hurt, and not in the bearable 'just had a big fight, but it will heal' sort of way. It was a source of constant agony, and every movement of his body made it burn. The only distraction he had was the feel of a warm body beside him, and the smell of his brother. He knew he'd passed out, and that Yazoo had looked downright startled. Then it was a blank. 

When he came close to wakening again, he tried to open his eyes, only to find them nearly glued together. His arm burned, and his nose was stuffy. He couldn't even breath right, and he felt excruciatingly hot. He couldn't shake the feeling that Yazoo was in danger, and he struggled to move, only to feel a warm arm wrap around his back, steadying him. He froze instantly, both in amazement and a hint of fear. He didn't recognize the one touching him, but the touch wasn't painful, or cruel, or uncomfortable in any way, except that the person was a little bony. It was warm, and comforting, and Loz couldn't hold back the soft sigh that broke from him.

He could smell Yazoo on himself, which was strange, because the older boy would never touch him in a million years. The thought of his brother brought on another wave of inexplicable fear, and he managed a meep of sound, which was so soft to his own ears over the breath of the person holding him he doubted if anyone would hear. To his surprise, the person tightened their hold a little, and a soft, feminine voice spoke quietly.

"Easy, baby," the woman said, her voice barely raised above a throaty whisper, "you're okay." 

Loz felt tears well in his eyes, even as he draped limply over the woman's shoulder, unable to bring his body to movement. No one had ever spoken to him like that--not aloud. Only when he had been at his lowest had Jenova spared any words for him, and they had always been crooned, and simpering—almost sarcastic. This voice was warm, and affectionate, and it held a firm edge of truth. He couldn't help but relax, even as he felt his own chest heave slightly in an exhausted sob. 

Once the dam of silence had been broken, unintentional, whimpering noises wrung themselves from him. He would have been writhing in agony if he could move at all. His mouth tasted weird, and he had the horrible feeling that something must have happened to Yazoo. Either that, or his brother had trusted someone. Loz almost laughed at the improbability. It was much more likely Yazoo had let him be taken rather than attempting to fight for his safety, though he really, really hoped that wasn't the case.

He didn't like Yazoo, but they were brothers. He was utterly certain that they needed each other. What would they have in this place without one another? He buried his face in the woman's shoulder, his breath still catching in his throat and vaguely wishing that his arm would fall off rather than continue too burn so fiercely. He couldn't quite get back into unconsciousness; the pain was too great for that. He scolded himself slightly for passing out when Yazoo could have used him, and now, when he was useless, suddenly being strong enough to be somewhat aware. He bared his teeth, refused to feel young, and forced his eyes open. 

The first thing he saw was darkness, and it took him a moment to realize that was because he'd shoved his forehead against the woman's shoulder, and was staring intently at the shirt that was perhaps half an inch away from his eyes. Painstakingly, he turned his head, with a soft, cut-off whimper he wasn't quite able to escape, and to his inexplicable joy saw a thin blur of black leather and silver hair following behind them on the rocky trail. He had no idea why the sight of his detested brother made him happy, but there it was. With that satisfaction, he allowed his eyes to close again, letting out a puff of breath he hadn't been aware of holding.

If it wasn't for the injury, he would have found it more than soothing to be carried so carefully. The hold on him was firm and the body warm. It felt like he had always imagined, except he had hoped for different circumstances. A brief flash of rage went through him that Yazoo wasn't carrying him personally, but he guessed so long as he was getting carried that he couldn't blame him. In fact, it was the first time he had really enjoyed being small. His mind felt fuzzy, and he knew he was thinking in circles, but one of the nice things about being in horrible pain was that he didn't care in the slightest. His heart was beating, sluggishly, and he could feel each pump as though it was squeezing his entire body. Well, at least that meant he was pretty certain he wasn't dead. Except that he was dead. So, in that case, it meant that--

He gave up on trying to figure it out, deciding that despite the circumstances, it was comforting none the less.

Inside, once he had almost gotten used to the agony in his arm and the way it shot out in electric veins through the rest of his body, he started to get bored with it. He had always been impatient, he knew, but the lifestream was really testing his limits now. He had preferred it, frankly, before he found Yazoo. it had been so weird, and changing all the time, and those kids had seemed really nice. He shuddered again when he thought of the people surrounding Yazoo, and frowned when his mind conjured up an image of a man gripping his brother's arm. He hadn't seen anyone do that, had he? Was he making up memories again, or altering the few pieces of Sephiroth's memory he had. He was vaguely aware that Yazoo and Kadaj had remembered more from that life, but he didn't really understand how that worked, so he had never really bothered wondering about it. Still. The image was disturbing.

He tilted his head against the shoulder carrying him again, and a soft chuckle rose from the woman as she hitched him up a little higher on her hip. The motion hurt, but Loz was finally starting to feel tired again, and he didn't mind the pain as much since it gave him a pillow closer to her neck. He couldn't help but notice how smooth and warm the exposed skin there was, and he gave a soft sigh of contentment, though he was far from fully content. The woman's soft murmur of speech was a strange change from the silent sounds of travel.

"Are you awake?" she asked softly. 

Loz frowned a little, brows furrowing, wondering who she was talking to, then he realized it was to him, and his eyes snapped open in surprise. He mouthed the word 'me?' but no sound would come out. He only managed to cough softly. The woman's hand patted his back carefully, and Loz felt tears well in his eyes against his will. The only two grown women he had ever known were the leather-wearing warrior he'd battled in the stinking church, and his mother, who favored his brothers, and never really spoke to him. Even the few times she did, she never asked him a question. She only, what was that word Yazoo used, 'imposed' her will on him. Or ranted. She was good at ranting. 

The woman who's shoulder he was leaning on cleared her throat softly, and he remembered that he was supposed to be answering a question, and forced himself to nod once against her shoulder. She gave him a little squeeze of encouragement.

"Do you know what happened?" she asked softly.

This time, Loz realized, he had to shake his head no. He really wanted to answer her fully, and tell her that he'd gotten hurt helping his jerky idiot of a brother, but words just wouldn't come to him. He was barely managing wheezes.

"Your brother can't see, can he?" she queried gently, as she absently started to stroke through his hair with one hand.

Loz realized, listening to her talk, that his hearing was not what it used to be. Before, even such a soft voice speaking in his ear before would have been utterly clear, and completely understandable. He ought to have had hearing good enough to listen to the air strike her vocal chords, and hear her heart beat even from his place resting on her shoulder. Instead, all her heard was the crunch of rock under her feet, and the whisper of her words. He wondered if Yazoo was as deaf, and turned to look behind him, only to have the woman's hand catch his cheek.

"Don't look back," the woman said as she caught his cheek gently in her hand. "I need to talk to you alone, please." 

Loz swallowed, and lifted eyes to catch a glimpse of her face. His eyes were blurry, and he barely had the energy to keep them open, but he couldn't resist the urge to peek. 

She was looking down at him with a slightly fond twist to her lips, but her eyes were hard as steel. Suddenly Loz felt like she was more trustworthy than anyone he had ever met, and he didn't know why. He nodded, and she patted his head lightly in approval, her hand ruffling his sweaty, dusty hair.

"Thank you," she murmured to him. "Now, can he see?" 

Loz shook his head no, and she let out a soft breath that sounded almost disappointed. His brows furrowed in confusion, but she quickly looked to him again with a faint smile, and the disappointment seemed to vanish. It didn't banish the fear in Loz's gut for his brother. He trusted this woman, but he didn't know why, and he wasn't willing to risk Yazoo for it. He stiffened a little in her hold, and felt his face grow dark, and was a little surprised at the soft laugh it drew from the woman.

"I won't hurt him," she told him fondly. "Gaia but you're cute. Here I was ready to dislike you both, and you have to be adorable, and your brother has to be brave." She heaved a soft sigh as she spoke, and Loz blinked at her, confusion written on his brow.

"Yazoo ain't brave," he muttered sullenly once he'd managed to clear his throat.

She looked down at him in surprise before turning back to the road, her face thoughtful. He would have continued, but just the soft proclamation had exhausted him, and he had to cough softly and sag against her shoulder again. She stopped petting his hair to brace his back once more, and he frowned a little through his panting. He wasn't sure if she was unhappy with him or not, but it seemed like she must be, and he had no idea why. She drew in a long breath and glanced behind them, and when she spoke, it was very softly, and almost as though she had a bitter taste in her mouth from saying the words.

"He's following us," she said softly, "even though he's exhausted and hurt. And if what you say is right, he can't even see the ground in front of himself." 

Loz frowned and tucked his chin. That didn't make Yazoo brave, he was sure. It was just that his brother was taking advantage of having someone with working eyes to follow. The woman wasn't done yet, though the flow of words was a little halting.

"When I first saw you two," she said, pausing for a moment, as though to put her thoughts in order, "I went up to the cliff to give you a piece of my mind. But as I was walking..." she trailed off for a moment, and Loz shivered in her hold again. 

The cadence of her speech, now that she was talking about apparently uncomfortable things, was startlingly familiar. In fact, there was something strikingly familiar about everything around her. His brows furrowed again, and if his arm had been working, he'd have reached up to rub at the spot. As it was, his arm tried to move, and flopped uselessly down from his hold on the woman's neck. 

He was sent a little off balance by the move, but distantly felt the woman's wiry muscles tighten their hold on him, and before he even had a chance to be worried about falling, she had re-settled him and put his arm back in its place. He blinked, and wondered if he was thinking slowly, or if she really was that fast. She wasn't finished with her story though, which, he supposed, was good, because she hadn't left off in a very comfortable way for him and his brother.

"As I was walking up the trail," she said softly, "I watched your brother nearly walk off the cliff side. It was so ridiculous, I could only guess he hadn't been paying attention, but now I think he probably just didn't see it. Anyway, it only made me more frustrated with him for putting you in danger. After all, you're just a child, and if he was going over the edge, he could have at least put you down first." 

Loz froze, and went totally rigid. She hesitated briefly mid-stride and looked down at him in confusion. Loz knew his mouth was gaping open in his surprise, but he still couldn't help but gawk at her.

"He was," he grated before the words sent him into another coughing fit, and she patted him lightly on the back, still looking bewildered.

"Carrying you, of course," she answered the unspoken question. "From what I'm guessing, you must have been unconscious for a while." 

Loz went silent after his coughing fit, too confused and disbelieving to respond to the information. Yazoo had... touched him? Willingly? Long enough to carry him? Off a cliff, of course, but maybe that had been an accident. Maybe. He wasn't willing to suspend that much disbelief. When the woman started speaking again, he sagged a little against her shoulder, forcing himself to settle and listen as though it was a fantasy, and later he would decide how much truth had been included.

"But he didn't go over, and for a while I couldn't see him any more, but as I got closer, I realized it was because you were hurt, and he'd put you down. It was... rather endearing, I must admit, him standing over you like a protective mother wolf--" Loz listened in awe as she told him that she'd watched Yazoo struggle for his life against the young Gruber Jr. and how he'd managed to win. 

By that point, she had been very close by, and had changed her original plan. She still hadn't told him what her original plan was, but he guessed it wasn't anything too good for himself or his brother. When she got to the part with his brother offering himself to the man in exchange for Loz's safety, the boy had to interrupt.

"Liar," he accused softly. 

She looked down at him, eyes wide, and a slight frown on her face. Then she cuffed him lightly upside the head, and lowered her head to whisper in his ear as he flinched.

"Look back now," she hissed sharply. "He's focused on the ground, so he won't see. Look." 

Loz would have much preferred to burst into tears and call her a mean lady, but to his own horror, his curiosity was piqued. He shifted, painstakingly, and looked over her shoulder. His eyes were clearer this time, and he watched his brother stumble after them, eyes fixed blindly on the ground before him, and one arm dangling uselessly at his side. Blood dripped lazily from his limp fingers to form a trail of droplets behind him. He looked haggard, and tired, and broken. And then he lifted his eyes, and caught Loz's weary gaze, and for a long moment, they stared at each other, and Loz wasn't sure what Yazoo felt in that moment, but he felt... cherished. Yazoo was looking at him with a relief in his look that was in total opposition to the pain he had to be in and the exhaustion obviously filling his body. 

When that relief turned to a strange, almost guilty look, that couldn't possibly have been actually caused by guilt. Yazoo looked silently back to the ground, and tightened his hold on the gun thrown over his shoulder which was, apparently, the weapon of the woman holding him. Loz stared at him a while longer, then looked to the woman in confusion.

"Why...?" he asked softly.

"Why... is he hurt?" she asked in faint confusion, looking down with a raised eyebrow. 

Loz shook his head quickly, and then had to blink multiple times to clear his vision again. Quick movement was not recommended in his present condition. A wracking cough echoed behind them, and Loz flinched. If half of what the woman said was true, he was going to have to re-evaluate what he thought of his brother.

"Why am I helping?" she guessed again. 

Loz rested his head on her shoulder again and nodded, feeling the dig of her collar bone in his cheek and not caring in the slightest. She hummed softly to herself, then sighed.

"I'm not terribly fond of either of you," she warned softly, and Loz didn't bother getting nervous over the statement. Not many people were fond of them after all, and at least she didn't seem to have hurt either of them. "But you're both too young." It was an exasperated, sighed statement, and it sounded almost amused.

"I may not be your mother," she sighed, glancing down again as her smile widened and her eyes glinted in the sunlight, "but I am a mother. I can't just leave two children alone." 

Loz blinked at her, then ducked his chin, considering the words, and before he managed to work all the way through it, he yawned hugely. The woman chuckled softly at the sound, her hand tangling gently in his hair. Loz let out just the faintest of sighs, and succumbed once more to sleep. As he faded, he dimly noticed a soft humming sound coming from the woman. Quietly, with a soft pull in his chest, he hoped that she wouldn't stop.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

By the time Mrs. Strife reached her house, Yazoo could barely stay standing. He was shaking hard, and could hear the chatter of the gun as it clacked lightly against the small metal features on his leathers. The wind was frigid on his sweat-dampened skin, especially where his clothes hung in tatters on his back. He could have cried in relief when they reached a small, unassuming and neatly built house.

The ground had flattened out a while ago, but the flora had returned with a vengeance. Even following the Strife woman, Yazoo was stumbling badly, despite himself. The lack of control often sent him tripping over a bush, or managing to get scratched by a thorn that shouldn't have been able to break his skin.

She pulled a key from her pocket, and opened the door, juggling Yazoo's younger brother almost effortlessly. Behind her, the willowy remnant swayed drunkenly, trying to keep his feet, and stay as still and unnoticeable as possible. Loz had fallen into an easier rest on the walk, and his breathing was no longer frightening to listen to, though Yazoo was bothered by the fact that he and the woman had conversed quietly and secretly ahead of him. He cursed his own heart beat and ragged breath for deafening him to the outside world.

Mrs. Strife didn't look back as she opened the door, but she left it open for the boy behind her. Until that point, Yazoo had refused to let himself get within ten feet of the woman. It was easy enough to keep the distance while they were in motion, for he simply wasn't able to move as quickly as her down the mountainside. However, now he was confronted with the problem of going into the small house behind her. He hesitated for a moment. He could feel the warmth from indoors flowing out to meet him, easing frozen skin. Ahead, he heard a little yelp of pain from his younger brother, and knew he had no choice. With a soft gasp of effort, Yazoo stumbled inside the small house and closed the door behind himself.

The inside was dimly lit in a way that seemed almost pleasant. The fire in the corner augmented the dim electric lights with a warm glow. Yazoo spared a moment to wonder how it was possible for electricity to run in the lifestream. He forced his gaze back to the woman he was certain was his enemy, and as he watched her carefully set Loz on the lone couch in the room, which seemed modern and out of place in the stone building. Yazoo swallowed at the sounds pulling from his brother and wrenched his gaze away as Mrs. Strife took his brother's wounded arm in hand, inspecting the makeshift bandage. Whatever she was going to do next, he didn't want to watch. Instead, he glanced around the room, leaning back against the wall on his good shoulder, trying to remove some weight from his shaking legs without slumping to the floor.

The walls were covered in book shelves, all of which were full. The only empty spaces were filled with photographs of a young blonde child. It took Yazoo a moment to realize that boy and the man he had killed atop the ruins of Shinra Tower were one and the same. He swallowed heavily, and shivered, the gun almost slipping from his hold. He forced his eyes away from the shyly smiling photo of the young boy to focus on setting the heavy shotgun down on a small table by the door. He set the shotgun down against the wall, wishing he had both hands. The soft, high-pitched whimpers of his brother and the soft, soothing humming of Mrs. Strife, grated on his nerves, making his brows twisted in distaste. Even the table he'd set the gun next to held a framed picture of the blonde man, this time older, looking more like the warrior Yazoo had faced. However, he still appeared uncertain--awkward. He didn't hold himself like a Soldier in this picture.

A scream pierced the small house, and Yazoo very nearly dashed to his brother's side. He managed only a jerk before he froze, partially from exhaustion sapping his will, partially from the pain the motion incurred. Mostly, because the scream had come when the woman carefully peeled away the leather casing over the injury to reveal a wound stuck to its makeshift bandage by a viscus yellow-white pus. Yazoo's stomach lurched and he forced his gaze away, completely unable to figure out how Mrs. Strife kept from loosing her lunch at the sight of the wound. He badly needed something distracting.

With a slow blink, Yazoo bit his lip, leaned flat against the wall, and lifted his good hand to his shoulder. With a jerk, a brief gasp, and a sickening snap, he jolted his shoulder back into its socket. He felt the woman's gaze on him, and ignored it, closing his eyes and biting down till he tasted blood, riding out the wave of pain the motion brought, and letting the urge to scream fall back like a quick tide. 

When he opened his eyes again, she had gone back to tending his brother. Somehow, in that brief moment, she had procured a medical box. Yazoo swallowed and looked back to the room, still holding his wounded, burning shoulder and attempting to lift the arm. It wouldn't move, and he knew he must have torn some rather important muscles and tendons in his all. He could only hope they would grow back more quickly and stronger than his blind eye. He wondered if that boot had irreparably mangled his face, because it was better than thinking about the whimpered begging from the sofa as Loz, still asleep, tried to protect his wounded arm from the medical attention it needed. He shrugged it off in indifference, and instantly winced. It was probably still perfect. His life would have been easier if he were a little less appealing, and Gaia forbid his life should be easy.

Belatedly, Yazoo wondered how in hell he was able to see the house, and his brows furrowed in confusion. He hadn't so much as glimpsed a shrub on their march, and yet he had taken it instantly for granted when he looked up and laid eyes on the house. He pressed his working hand to the wall behind him, turning his head to look closely at it with his working eye, which had the added benefit that his recently narrowed line of view blocked the sight of his little brother's pain from his sight. He reached out to touch the table he'd set the gun on and missed. He stared at the table, looked at his hand, and tried again. Not only did he miss this time, he nearly pulled himself off balance expecting to touch the wooden surface. He gaped at it, and slid a little closer while the boy across the room hyperventilated in short, choppy breaths. When he moved next to the table, he could touch it quite well. He looked up to the ceiling in horror. His depth perception was shot.

"What the hell are you doing?" snapped a sharp female voice from across the room. 

Yazoo jumped and whirled, the motion sending pain shooting through him and hair flying into his face. Mrs. Strife was giving him a heated glare. 

"Get your ass over here and give me a hand with your brother!" she commanded, as much a general as Sephiroth ever was. 

Yazoo's body moved to obey before he could object, and he forced himself to stop, standing shivering in the middle of the room, his eye fixed on his little brother as he wriggled in Mrs. Strife's hold, tugging ineffectually on his injured arm, even unconscious. The woman's gaze was piercing and constant. He swallowed.

"I can't," he whispered. 

The woman's eyes widened, then narrowed in fury, and what survival instincts Yazoo had recoiled from the little woman. She set Loz's arm carefully down on the sofa and absently stroked a hand down one of his teary cheeks as she rose and stormed over to Yazoo. The older boy almost ran for the door, but his gaze was still fixed, and he was frozen watching that young face twist in painful misery, even as the furious woman crossed the room to grab him by the lapel.

The moment her hand touched him, he gasped and tried to pull away. He managed only to trip himself, and wondered where his coordination had gone. The woman's hand remained firmly clasped on his leather lapel, pulling firmly against it and tightening the rest of his outfit, bodily dragging him over to the sofa. Yazoo struggled against the hold, and managed to get his feet in front of him to dig in his heels, but her step was unfaltering and unaffected by his utter physical defiance. 

She all but threw him to the ground by Loz's head. The stench of blood and sickness almost overwhelmed the older boy, and Yazoo yelped softly, trying to get his feet under himself to scramble away. The firm hand clamped on his shoulder stopped him from doing so, but only because it was his injured shoulder, and the sensation made the blood drain from his face and pulled a hollow gasp from his lungs. The hand instantly released him.

"Still not healed, huh," the Strife woman said, and Yazoo didn't dare move. He was frozen with fear. "I thought someone who managed to kill my son would have a stronger soul. I must say, you're rather disappointing." 

Yazoo froze instantly, even the wracking tremors abandoning him at the words. Mrs. Strife settled on a stool beside him, facing Loz, and lifting his arm once again.

"Take his other hand, Yazoo, and tell him you're here." She instructed, looking over at him. 

Yazoo knew the fear on his face was open. He couldn't hide it. She knew. She would kill them both. He lowered a trembling hand to his hip, where Velvet Nightmare was a phantom weight—one he missed dearly. It didn't escape her attention, and she literally slapped his hand in retribution.

"Have I done a thing to either of you?" she said sharply, waving her hand negligently. "No. So shape up, take his hand, and help me help you, you little idiot." 

Yazoo was, frankly, too scared to argue, and took Loz's clenching, sweaty fingers with a trembling hand, fighting a retch as he did so. Mrs. Strife gave him a hard look at the sound, then her face softened, mistaking his disgust at the touch as disgust towards the wound.

"He'll be alright," she soothed needlessly. "Talk to him. It will calm him down."

"No," Yazoo choked out, feeling an emptiness inside himself so vast he was certain he couldn't have thrown up even if he wasn't fighting the impulse back. "We hate each o-other." He cursed the stumble in his words, caused by a hurried tongue, and prayed the woman hadn't heard it. She had. He was on the receiving end of another glare.

"Talk. To. Him. I mean it, Yazoo. Better you than just me while I get to work." She said as she brandished a threaded needle.

Yazoo turned aside to gag emptily, moaning another negative. The woman huffed in disapproval and muttered about how ridiculous it was for a murderer to have a weak stomach. Yazoo didn't have a weak stomach. He had tortured a helpless couple without mercy. He had seen and smelled infection, and inflicted more pain than any needle and thread alone could provide. It wasn't his stomach. It was that Loz was the one lying there, unconscious and still trying to scream. He wished he didn't care, even as under the weight of the woman's disapproval he forced his lips to pull apart, and words to escape him. He didn't know what he was saying. He was pretty sure he wasn't saying anything.

His voice was thick with fear and sorrow and sickness, and he couldn't force out more than two words strung together before he had to fight off another choke of sickness. He was on the wrong side of Mrs. Strife for his comfort. He could still see her stitching up his brother's arm in his peripheral vision. The Sephiroth in him would not allow him to look away. Loz was sobbing and twisting in pain and misery, and he kept squeezing Yazoo's hand every time the needle dug into his flesh. The tightened contact made Yazoo want to scream and tear the skin off his fingers and palm. This was his fault. Loz should have stayed in his field of children. He would have at least been safer there.

By the time she had stitched the injury half-closed, Yazoo's vision was blurred with exhaustion, and his tense posture had been forced into a slumped one through sheer, miserable weariness. Loz still held his hand in a tight grasp, and every soft gasp of breath was like a wound in Yazoo's side. His hand hurt where it had been crushed in that small hold, and he could almost feel his corruption creeping across the smaller boy, and worst of all was he was so tired he was starting to not care. Loz was tough, he assured himself. He would probably withstand a true monster's hold on him for a little while.

The moment the final stitch was pulled through that reddened, swollen skin, Yazoo pulled his hand back as though it had been burned to cinders by the hold, and held it to his chest, lowering his head, and knowing without a doubt he himself was doomed. He couldn't rise, and now had allowed himself to go against the one thing he wanted in the world. 

The woman had to know what touching brought. This was simply another form of torture. He refused to look at her, and doubted he could have anyway. What vision he had was darkening around the edges, and he was starting to think that, perhaps, he would not last much longer before succumbing to it. He swallowed heavily, listening to the quiet sounds of Mrs. Strife packing away her work materials and rising briefly to put them away. He stayed where he was, listening to Loz whimper in his sleep, and jerking his head back up every time it tried to droop wearily to his chest. His hand was shaking, and it almost matched the rhythm of his panicked heart beat. When he heard the brisk footsteps of Mrs. Strife enter the room again, he forced himself to draw in enough breath to speak. It burned in his lungs.

"Loz didn't fire the shot," he choked. "I was the one who--" he broke off, out of air and panting raggedly, trying to stop making such pathetic sounds. 

The woman's footsteps stopped, and Yazoo tried to get his breath back to tell her that it was him—it was always him. Instead, his vision darkened further and he had to catch himself on his one working hand. He felt like he had on that building, killing this woman's son. At least this time there wasn't burning rain. Through the coughs attempting to turn him inside out, he heard a soft sigh from the woman.

"You're a mess, aren't you?" she said, her voice much less harsh than before. 

Yazoo tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. To his amazement, a soft, cool hand touched his forehead. He jerked, but didn't pull away, partially because he was locked in place by his own weakness. His brows furrowed automatically, and if he hadn't been so damn tired he might have managed a retch at the foreign contact. As it was, his body was shaking around him like a personal earthquake. The hand removed itself with a soft sound of distaste, and a moment later it was replaced with a cool, damp cloth that the woman drew across his forehead and down one cheek. Yazoo couldn't restrain the soft sound of pleasure he made at the touch.

"Lean on the sofa," he was instructed in that firm but not unkind voice. 

Once again, he found himself doing so, painstakingly, without thought. He despised the part of himself that followed orders so freely, but he couldn't complain once he was leaning against the very sofa his brother was on. Breath came easier now that he wasn't crumpled in on himself. He tilted his head back, knowing it left him vulnerable, but too tired to care. His head just barely touched Loz's in their position, and he didn't try to move away. That would just have to be acceptable. The damp rag was settled carefully on his forehead, and the blissful, almost painful chill of it seemed to soak into his skin and travel across his entire body, fighting back the uncomfortable heat coursing through him.

"How, exactly, did you get yourself this mangled?" Mrs. Strife asked the world at large. 

Yazoo slanted his working eye over to gaze blearily at her and found her cleaning the skin around the wound in his brother's arm carefully. It took him a long time to decide whether to answer her or not, and even longer to decide on what to say.

"Your son," he grated, and saw her glance in his direction with hard eyes before going back to her work, "was not the only one whose death was my responsibility." She snorted and took a final sweep of the arm before unwinding a long roll of bandages.

"Don't flatter yourself," she chuckled. "My son isn't dead, and I doubt you alone killed all those people. You had two brothers to help, after all." 

Yazoo had stopped listening at 'dead.' He was staring at her in horror and amazement. He turned to face her more fully, pushing himself up just a little, and ignoring the lighting bolt of discomfort that shot through him.

"Not..." he breathed, totally unable to believe it. 

He'd shot the Soldier in the heart. He'd pierced him with his bullet, in the same place that ached in his own chest at the loss of Kadaj. And even if the man's bizarre genetics hadn't been stopped by that, he and Loz had blown themselves and the roof to smithereens to take him down. The woman was laughing softly at him.

"Relax," she scolded, "you'll only make yourself worse pushing harder." The smile dimmed to an almost triumphant look. "And yes. My Cloud is alive. Do you really think he'd let you anywhere near my house if he was here?"

Yazoo slumped back onto the couch. The cloth had fallen off his brow, but that was alright. He was feeling very cold now. They had failed. He had failed. Failed to bring down his brother's murderer. Past the guilt of that failure, another, less devoted voice inside him was quietly wondering how much worse it would have been for them if he had succeeded. If he had taken Cloud with them, they certainly wouldn't have had Mrs. Strife there to help them, and as much as Yazoo disliked it—disliked her—he had a feeling she was infinitely preferable to what the 'Gruber' man would have done to him. He shivered in revulsion, and the woman frowned, looking at him with bemused concern.

"You haven't stopped shivering since I first saw you," she observed almost absently, "but you're burning hot." 

His mouth worked soundlessly, and before he could scream, and despair, and give the hell up, and see if he could at least take down that bastard's mother, a small hand closed on his hair and tugged lightly. The energy drained from Yazoo in a flood, and he twisted to look at his little brother's hand, curled tightly in the long strands of his hair for comfort. He couldn't bring himself to despise that slightly desperate contact, and instead merely stared at the hand and decided if that was how it needed to be, he could deal with having his hair touched. At least he couldn't actually feel Loz's fingers on his skin. The pull was bearable. The woman made a soft noise, watching him gaze at his little brother, and he felt a tentative, searching touch on his hand. He jerked back at once, and hissed at the pain of the movement, staring accusingly at her.

Her look was not what he was expecting. She looked startled, and worried, and had drawn a hand back to her chest uncertainly, despite the fact that the uncompromising look hadn't edged off her face. His eyelids were drooping, but that defensive posture raised warning bells in him, and his brows furrowed. She was intimidating, certainly, but not an enemy. Not yet. He couldn't afford to loose her help until Loz was well enough to escape. If touching him had hurt her somehow, he really ought to apologize, and fast, but when he opened his mouth, a yawn forced its way out. She was still staring, but it was she who spoke first.

"You mean to tell me--" she began softly, breaking off before finishing her thought. 

Yazoo frowned in confusion, because he hadn't told her anything but what he'd done to Cloud. Perhaps she was about to condemn him for the filth she had no doubt felt on his sleeve. Surely she could tell what he was by that touch. He only hoped she would forgive Loz. He had only begun to wonder why he thought that when she continued speaking.

"You mean to tell me," she repeated, "That you don't let anyone touch you? You were carrying your brother when I found you!" 

Yazoo shrunk back from her as she spoke. His legs curled in automatically. He really really hoped she would kill him quickly, but until then, he would answer her questions.

"I—I had to," he stuttered, scowling at the weak quality of his words. 

He moved a little, in an attempt to flip his hair slightly over his expression in some form of cover, but all he got for his trouble was a brief sting as he pulled his own hair, having forgotten Loz's grip. He shot a look down at the boy, and couldn't be angry with him. The sight calmed him somewhat, and he found that if he looked at his brother while he spoke instead of Mrs. Strife, he could steady his voice.

"He was wounded, and I had no way of helping him. I had to." He felt something warm slip down from his blind eye, and cursed himself for being so weak as to cry in front of an enemy. "I do not think he will remember, and h—he hasn't been damaged by it. He still isn't like me." He lifted his gaze to the woman again, and found her frowning sternly at him.

"Please," he said softly, and it was not a word he said often. It felt stale and raw in his mouth. "Don't throw him out. He needs your help. You can do what you want with m--" He had intended to say 'me.' 

The hand that cuffed him, hard, on the head stopped him short in surprise and a wave of revulsion. The woman's eyes had darkened, and become much angrier.

"Utter stupidity," she snapped. "You lean back on that sofa while I go find a cot for you, and if I hear one more word like that out of you, you get to wash dishes for a month, got it?" 

Yazoo stared at her for a long time, confused, and frankly a little hurt. He didn't want her to kill him, or hurt Loz, and he had a feeling he did not want to do dishes.

"I don't understand," he said softly.

"Obviously," the woman huffed. "Look, you're too tired and I'm too angry to discuss this right now, so both of us are going to go to sleep and in the morning, we'll talk about you and your brother, got it?" 

Yazoo shuddered a little, looking the woman up and down. He really really didn't want to, but if it would help Loz, he supposed he could bear it. She noticed the glance, and, to Yazoo's surprise, made a sound of disgusted rage.

"Separately." she snapped. "We are sleeping separately. Gaia, how were you raised? Never mind. Don't tell me. I don't want to know." A finger was pointed at him as she stood. "Stay right there with your brother while I find you something to sleep on." 

Yazoo watched her leave in utter confusion. He felt like this woman's house was another planet. He tried to think about it, but it was as though his mind had been replaced with Chocobo down. He couldn't derive anything discernible from the conversation except that, apparently, he was being allowed to sleep alone, and she wasn't planning to kill him. Not yet, anyway. Her words stayed on replay in his head but he ignored them as best he could, turning to look at Loz's peaceful, sleeping face. He was tossing and turning much less now, with a handful of hair to hold onto, and he looked calm, but Yazoo couldn't quite focus his eye on his brother's face. His view remained stubbornly blurry. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he forced them open again, his head was pillowed on the soft cushions of the sofa.

The woman returned, with a small, fold-up bed being dragged behind her, and Yazoo only bothered to glance over because of the horrible noise the old wheels made across the floor. He went back to gazing blearily at his sleeping brother, his stitched up arm bandaged carefully in white—a sharp contrast to the rest of him, most of which was utterly covered in dirt from the ground he'd slept on the night before and the top of the cliff. To his faint surprise, the woman didn't scold him, or insist he help her, or rise to prove he wasn't weak. She just cursed softly to herself as she worked on getting the thing to unfold with a groan of underused springs, then vanished again for a while, leaving Yazoo once more in apparent silence. He could hear his own heartbeat, thundering as though his blood was made of laboriously thick motor oil, and the rasping, whimpering breaths of his pained brother, and a faint crack or two from the house surrounding them. It didn't bother him. He and his brothers had taken sleep when and where they could before they died, and they had stayed in more worrisome houses.

When she returned, she cleared her throat, and he forced himself to look up at her. She was watching him with a quizzical look, and a bundle of dark fabric in her arms. For a moment, Yazoo lost his vision again, but he wasn't sure if it was the same blindness creeping in, or just that his eyes fell closed without his consent. When he opened them again, the woman was crouching a respectable distance from him. He still jumped a little, at the sudden change, but he was pretty certain he managed not to make any embarrassing noises or shift his facial expression too dramatically. The woman stared at him for a long while, then sighed and shook her head.

"Alright," she sighed, with an almost resigned note. "Try and get up for a second so you can get into bed. Sleep like that you won't able to move in the morning." 

Yazoo stared blandly at her. Of course he had to stand up again. He had no doubt he'd be strapped to that bed, and never see his brother again. But good behavior was rewarded, sometimes. Maybe he'd be able to buy Loz some time. He forced himself up, keeping his head low enough not to break Loz's hold on his hair until the woman forced him to. Instead, with a soft grunt of effort, she scooted the cot closer, and Yazoo blinked, realizing it was only sightly higher than the sofa. It was a blink that almost sent him tumbling head long into unconsciousness.

"Slide on," Mrs. Strife instructed, bracing the bed so it wouldn't roll around freely. 

It was very awkward to try and climb on the bed without pulling his hair out of his brother's hold, but even weakened, Yazoo was nothing if not flexible. The moment most of him was on the bed, he felt his consciousness slipping, sinking into the nearly soft, loudly creaking faux-mattress beneath him. It felt, in comparison to everything else, wonderful. With one last look at his little brother's hand, still tangled in his hair, he fell into the first deep and natural sleep since he died, and just barely noticed the feel of something warm being draped carefully over him.

~*~*~*~*~*

"He sleepin'?" Loz asked quietly, peeking one eye open to look up at Mama Strife. He was greeted with a faint, weary smile.

"Yes. He's asleep."

"Good. Uh," he paused, unsure of his right to speak, and winced slightly at the pain still jumping enthusiastically through his arm, into his shoulder, to latch on to his heartbeat and spread through the rest of him. 

The blonde woman raised a finger to pause his words and left the room again only to return with a small cup. She slid carefully onto the sofa, squeezing between it and the cot currently holding his softly-snoring older brother, who looked like a filthy street-rat with his hair hanging in dirty strings around his dirty face. Loz wrinkled his nose a little, but his hand still had a death grip on those same tarnished-silver locks. When Mrs. Strife helped him sit up for a moment, he lost his concentration on that and gave a soft, pained yelp. Her apology was easily given, and easily accepted, and when she put the cup to his lips, not asking him to release his grip, he drank thirstily from it, wondering how he could be dead and still thirst, and pretty sure he would never get to know. The pain in his arm eased quickly. Unfortunately, his vision doubled too.

"Oh no," he breathed. "Two Yazoos. 'M in trouble." 

The older woman's bright, stifled laugh brought a smile to his face, and he could still distantly feel the oily texture off his brother's dirtied hair. Two Yazoos wouldn't be so bad, he guessed. After all, he'd never expected to be allowed to touch that fall of hair. The man had totally freaked out over Mrs. Strife forcing them to hold hands. As she helped him lay back on the sofa, jarring his arm only a little, he licked his lips in tension and gulped nervously.

"Uh, mama?" he addressed. 

Her eyes widened a great deal, and for a moment she looked almost angry, and Loz worried. Then she heaved a long breath, shrugged to herself, and the anger drained off her face.

"Yes?" she said, with only a hint of exasperation, and a trace of amusement quirking her lip.

"Yaz doesn' like touchin' me, so..." he swallowed again. That stuff tasted really good and it made him feel even better. It felt like someone else's mouth he was making talk. "Couldja not make 'im next time? 'M ok—kay." The woman's smile widened ever so slightly, and Loz was rewarded with a soft, motherly touch on his forehead that pulled a sigh of contentment from him.

"Alright." she replied. 

She was saying something else too, but Loz had heard what he needed to. The woman wouldn't hurt them, of course, because she was a mom, and moms didn't hurt kids (a part of him argued, saying that surely, surely he knew that wasn't true, but he ignored it.) They were safe, as they had been when Angeal had been with them, and at least Loz was much more comfortable. If he could just keep Yazoo from freaking out every five seconds, and himself from passing out every time he got too worn out, he'd be all set. Even as the thought crossed his mind, a memory of ferocious growling, and fangs far too close to a vulnerable pale throat flashed in his subconscious, and Loz slid into quiet, childish nightmares of ending up alone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this point on, A Brutal Teacher is largely unedited. Though it is a complete story, it still requires a great deal of polishing. If you would prefer to wait until the perfectly polished version is complete, please private message me, and I will keep you up to date as I update the story! The story itself will not change perceptibly, but there are a fair number of clunky turns of phrase, strange grammatical choices, and confusing changes in person without proper markings. Continue at your own risk!
> 
> (That said, I just wrote the final chapter, and overall? It is a very good story.)

Chapter Seven

Someone was touching him as he slept. It was not unusual, of course, for people in the lab to continue their work, poking and prodding, no matter the hour or his state, but he found it slightly... taxing. Once he had taken the invasiveness for granted, but no longer. They had made a rather extreme tactical error in sending him to Banora. He had always known that he himself was different. He had been unaware that his lifestyle was as well. Until he had something to compare it to.

The hands on him, he noted absently, were almost solely concentrated on tracing over his face. It was unusual, and it was probably Hojo. The professor was abnormally obsessed with his face, and had been for as long as he remembered. He had always been disdainfully told from behind thick, shining glasses how distastefully feminine his features were, and how unnecessary it was for them to remain intact, but the same man who decried his appearance spent hours studying the lines of his lips—the curve of his eyes, and often ran fingers over each feature when his subject was asleep, or injured, or otherwise incapacitated. Genesis had called him a 'pervert.'

The very thought of Genesis heated his cheeks. The redhead was the first person he had ever laid eyes on outside the lab, and if ever Sephiroth had not understood someone, it was the over-emotional and easily-obsessed youth who had been standing there on the landing pad despite orders to keep his distance until Hojo and Hollander approved of their meeting. When questioned, harshly, about his apparent inability to follow orders, Genesis had sighted 'a healthy sense of curiosity,' and laughed with an almost derisive note staining his voice as Hojo spluttered in rage. He was eleven years old, and already a practical force of nature.

For the entire week he had ended up staying in Banora, no one had laid hands on Sephiroth while he slept, save for one night. That one strange, enlightening night when Genesis persuaded him to slide into bed with him. 'For warmth,' he had said. Sephiroth had not been cold. When stoic, calm, patient Angeal was coerced into joining them as well, by Genesis's overblown claims of extreme friendship and the callings of their unofficial brotherhood, Sephiroth had became even more confused. Surely Genesis was not cold enough to require a body on either side of him to remain warm.

However, he had been the stranger in that place, and had decided upon arriving, as an experiment of his own, to follow every bizarre rule that seemed to be taken for granted in the world outside his safe well-known lab. When Genesis and Angeal had fallen asleep, Sephiroth had lifted a hand, slowly, carefully, and placed it over the redhead's slim throat, feeling the heartbeat that kept that fiery, eccentric life in motion, and felt it pump under his fingertips, wondering at how easy it would have been to simply end the existence that so confused him.

Content with the knowledge that their way of living must truly have been inferior, for he knew when someone touched him in his sleep, he had relaxed and waited for sunrise, when the two who called themselves his friends would awaken and his physical solitude would be restored.

Now, aware of the touch on his exhausted body, and the goosebumps that formed un-wanted in its wake, Sephiroth wondered, not for the first time, if there might be some merit to not awakening at every touch. Even if the hand on his face were to clamp over his throat, he would do nothing to stop it. At least, if he were Genesis, he would not be lying there waiting for it to come.

Finally, the touch retreated, and Sephiroth forced the thoughts away, sliding back into sleep, and remembering how incredibly, almost uncomfortably warm it had been to be held by another living being. Sephiroth slept. He never dreamed at night, but he thought, and considered. That night, he made himself remember every tree he had ever seen in Banora, right down to the number of leaves on their branches.

When Yazoo woke up, he didn't know who he was. He blinked slowly, and could feel that only his left eye was responding to the unspoken order to focus. The other was defective. Faulty. Useless. Which meant that, whoever he as, he must be as well. Imperfection was unacceptable. He attempted to sit up, and was halted by two things. One was a sharp, unexpected tug on his hair, and the other the feel of something sliding off his chest. He stared down at a rather ugly but soft dark-brown blanket, and absently ran a hand over the slightly scratchy material. When he tilted his head to inspect it more closely, the tug came on his hair again. He turned, feeling the firm object beneath him give and squeak at the shift this required. He found his hair in the grasp of a small, pale, dirty hand, with grit and blood caked disgustingly under its short nails. Yazoo started to sneer, but the expression fell from his face the moment his eye tracked down to study the small, slack face of the arm's owner. He knew it was his brother, even before he managed to fully focus on him. There were dark circles under his eyes and a furrow of pain clung to his brow, which aged the small face with stress, and yet it was Loz, his little brother, without a doubt. The soft wheezing breaths escaping the boy sickened him, and grounded him like an airship crash.

"Yazoo," he breathed to himself, eyes never straying from that dirt-smudged, weary face. "Your name is Yazoo." He almost believed it. Tearing his eyes from his brother before curiosity forced him to look at the boy's no-doubt still wounded arm, he flopped back on the grumbling bed, shivering in the backlash of another man's mind. His hands curled in the blanket covering him, and his chest ached. He felt both empty and squeezed at the same time, as though there was nothing left of him, and there was still too much pressure crushing down around his chest and heart. Even after sleeping, he couldn't seem to catch his breath. Every deep inhalation left him gasping a moment later. He felt like a landed fish, and he absolutely despised it.

He lay utterly still for a long while, feeling his laborious heart beat, swallowing heavily against the sour taste of bile in his throat, and feeling just a little sorry or himself. The memories that were not his own clamored for his attention, and his shoulder ached. Most of him ached, in fact. His skin was tight with grit and dried sweat, and he could feel himself falling apart. It entered his mind, slowly, that he was dying. A little. And probably more slowly than he had before. He looked over at Loz again, and licked his lips, tasting blood and salt. He convinced himself, with some effort, that the younger clone's breathing was easier than the day before. The thought of the boy being forced to pass away and revive as he himself had sickened him in a way he had not anticipated. He closed his eyes again, and focused on the tight feeling in his chest—the ache in his cheek—the way his breathing rattled in his chest. He tuned out the world, and tried to focus himself back into one piece.

"Well," a female voice snapped through the space, like a whip's disgruntled snap. Yazoo jolted so hard his hair came free of Loz's hold, save for the pieces that were pulled out by the smaller, clutching fingers. He managed not to fall of the small, grumbling cot by luck alone. His eyes snapped open to stare at the woman frozen in the doorway, a smile ticking at the side of her lips. They froze in place for a long moment, and Yazoo could hear his startled, frantic heartbeat in his ears. Then the woman burst into frantic laughter, folding over herself, and clenching a fist in her skirt. The fear left Yazoo instantly, and was replaced with utter indignation. He rubbed a hand over his head, and glanced down to the thin tangle of silver still clutched in Loz's sticky fingers.

"What do you want?" he hissed fiercely, and was answered by a raised hand, palm facing him, as the woman gasped laughs into the otherwise still air. Loz let out a soft, pleasant sound and curled up a little more, his hand tightening on the strands of hair still tangled between his fingers. Yazoo shot him a disgruntled glance.

"If you don't stop it, you'll wake Loz up," he snapped. He didn't want two people laughing at him. His chest tightened briefly, and he shook his head quickly to fight off the pressure behind his eyes. He would not cry in front of this woman. No matter what madness was bleeding into him, or what strange burden was placed upon him to bear, he could not risk letting her see his despair. Loz grumbled in his sleep behind him. The woman appeared to ignore his warning statement, but pulled herself together never the less, wiping a hand across her eyes. There were dimples in her cheeks when she smiled.

"Sorry," she replied flippantly, not lowering her voice, and appearing utterly relaxed. Yazoo felt like they were in opposition, for he knew quite well that he would appear lithe, stately and controlled, looking down his nose at her from his full height. The fact that she was shorter than him rubbed him the wrong way somehow. She took one look at him and rolled her eyes, her smile only dimming slightly.

"Oh, simmer down and put your claws back in. I didn't mean to startle you. Did I come up on your blind side or something?" Yazoo ducked his chin instantly and turned away, tossing his head just a little to send his bangs in front of the blind eye once more.

"No," he said, intending the word to be smooth and calm, and wincing when it came out cracked with misuse. The woman hummed a disbelieving sound, then sighed, crossing her arms, shifting her weight until it was resting mostly on one leg and looking him over. Yazoo fought the urge to fidget under the scrutiny, and held as still as wood, save for the constant tremor still plaguing him. It would have been unnoticeable had it not made his hair wave slightly.

"You're a wreck," the woman stated calmly. "You'll feel better if you get some of that grit off." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, and moved forward, out of the doorway, still eying him thoughtfully. "There's a bathroom through there with a shower. I can probably find something less torn up for you to change into."

Yazoo raised a defensive hand to clasp over his leather-clad bicep. He knew the clothes were torn, and broken, but they were like part of him. He didn't want to have to give them over to the woman. But the shower—being at least outwardly clean... that was tempting. And after all, they needed this woman's help, so showing some courtesy would be advisable at any rate. He remembered, vaguely, from somewhere, that it was rude not to accept a generous offer. He nodded slowly, and felt every muscle that went into the movement jerk against the motion. But the woman just smiled.

Yazoo refused to slink past her, but he did cast a nervous look over his shoulder at his sleeping brother, only to catch the glimmer of green eyes again, this time sleepy and muddled. The little brat blinked slowly at him, then gave him a hazy smile and curled up a little more, falling instantly back to sleep.

"I'll get him cleaned up a little while you're washing off," the Strife woman said to his other side, making him jump nearly out of his skin. He couldn't get used to not seeing anything on one side. He retreated to the bathroom as she folded over in a snickering fit. He didn't find his blindness in the least bit funny.

'Worthless' a voice in his head reminded him. Safely enclosed in the bathroom, he reached up with shaking hands and pulled down the zipper on the front of his leathers, wincing as they peeled off his skin. Leather was many things, including durable. Breathability was not one of its selling points. It clung to him like a snake's skin, waiting to be shed, and sticky with nostalgia. He peeled it off one handed, as his arm was still not working quite right, though at least this morning he could move his hand. He froze with the zipper halfway to his naval, and stared down at the exposed portion of his chest. He was numb enough not to be shocked, or horrified, but knew he would be soon. What should have been an expanse of pearly white skin was mottled an ugly dark purple and red. He was frozen for a while, staring blankly at the color of his own skin. He had seen bruises before—on the Turks he tortured, and the ones he fought later—but never on himself. His lip trembled briefly, and he didn't know why, then he fought his way back into control of his own body and yanked the zipper the next few notches down, to his midsection, and pushed the leather down over his injured shoulder with a tight hiss of pain.

The healing shoulder was a mess, certainly, but nothing compared to the torso below it. He ran careful fingers over the center of the bruising—the mangled section of his sternum that had been so cruelly crushed. The bone obviously hadn't healed right when he came back, and there was an indent in the center of his chest, over his heart. He pressed ever so slightly and gasped hollowly, folding over himself, which set his ribs to aching. He moaned and slumped to his knees, pushing the sticky leather down further still and running a hand over his aching ribs, finding the bones under his skin lumpy and slightly twisted. No wonder he couldn't breathe right. Slowly he forced himself to finish stripping, and sobbed a laugh. Everything from his waist to his knees had healed perfectly. His legs were bruised and battered and sore, but functional. He pulled his knees closer to his chest, gasping hollowly in pain at the movement, and put his face in his hands, bowing his stiff back.

'Worthless,' the voice said, the sound of the word echoing through his entire body. It sounded more like his own voice this time, and less like the man who plagued him from within. At least he had been useful before, broken though he was. Here, he couldn't even touch anyone but the mother of his worst enemy and his little brother, and them he didn't want to touch. He swallowed heavily, choking a little afterwards and watching in horror as the grubby, twisted ribs on his side heaved slightly with every breath. It was sickening to observe. He looked up again, and noticed with a faint rush of hope the mirror above the sink he had overlooked in his hurry to undress.

He stood shakily, his bare legs only just supporting him, despite their relative strength, and braced himself on the sink, staring down at the cold ceramic as his silken, silver hair draped down across his vision in tangled strands. Then, slowly, he looked up at himself, wondering what his destroyed face must look like, if he chest was so disfigured. Perfect, slim cheeks met his gaze, with just a hint of discoloration in the right side. His mouth dropped open, bowed lips forming a soft 'oh' of surprise, his teeth flashing briefly and displaying that, had he lost any, they had re-appeared with no perminant damage done. His face was all but undamaged, save or the lingering imprint of a boot's tread on the skin, stamped out in red dirt. He lifted a hand to scratch at it absently, watching the nails dig white trails in his already pale skin before the marks they left filled with a gentle red flush. Only when the mark was beginning to wear away did he allow himself to meet his own gaze.

A blank, empty, horrible green orb stared back at him from his right side, and he nearly vomited right there. It was terrifying, to see that blank thing where his eye had been. It was as empty as if someone had carved the iris right out of it and replaced it with a soft green glow in the general vicinity of where it had once been. He lifted a hand and pulled down his eyelid slightly, tilting his head to and fro to watch the empty orb track as though it could still see. It saw nothing, and was nothing. It made him want to rip the offending thing from his head. He disliked most of himself, but his eyes were special. They had always been special.

"I like your eyes," Kadaj said, tilting his head to get a better look at the aforementioned objects of his affection. Yazoo patiently stood the attention, a faint smile on his face and a light feeling in his heart. If his tenshi liked something, Yazoo liked it as well, and so he would like his eyes, no matter how many of Sephiroth's memories warned him that beautiful eyes were a danger. Kadaj hadn't mentioned it again, but the few times Yazoo allowed him the contact he seemed to crave, the younger clone had always cupped his cheek and tilted his eyes to the light, admiring them openly, and because it was Kadaj, and no other, Yazoo had come to adore them.

And now, as with everything he treasured, they were incomplete and useless. Before he could allow himself further thought, he lurched away from the mirror, fighting back tears at the sight and the knowledge that Kadaj would be sad at the loss, and shoved the hot water on in the shower. It chilled him to the bone that he knew how to do so, as he had never had the opportunity to shower during the two weeks he was alive, but he supposed some of the automaticity that came with being part Sephiroth was nice. He stepped into the shower before the water had managed to make the transition from ice-cold to tepid, sat down on the ceramic floor of the bath, and allowed his broken body to relax, shuddering, under the warming spray.

"Wow, what took him so long?" Loz asked cheerfully, propped up on three pillows to allow him to sit up while Mama Strife poked and prodded at his arm. It hurt, but he was conscious this time, and didn't mind as much as he had the night before, since he knew what was going on. The memory of a hand in his wrenched his chest, so he tried not to think of it. The woman hummed softy to herself, and went about peeling the fresh bandages off his injured arm. Loz groaned in annoyance and wriggled in her hold.

"Stop it, that hurts," he whined, nose wrinkling.

"Too bad," she scolded, taking a firm grip on his wrist and elbow and holding him firmly in place. Loz snarled briefly, then switched tactics, sticking out his lower lip and making it tremble and milking a few whimpering sounds of pain from himself. It wasn't all production, but hamming it up never hurt. Until the lady gave his nose a firm, but not painful tap and gave him a disbelieving look.

"Cut that out. You want your arm to fall off, you keep on wiggling and don't let me do my work, buster." Loz stopped wiggling and stared at her, mouth agape.

"I don't want it to fall off," he said in a horrified whisper. The woman's answering quirk of the lips made him simultaneously nervous and suspicious that perhaps she was exaggerating.

"Better hold still for me then, huh," she said with mock sweetness. Even if his arm's continued existence hadn't been under threat from the injury, Loz could recognize the threat behind that smile. He gulped, and didn't squirm again. Not even when she poured something fizzy and uncomfortable into the cut, though he really wanted to know what good something that looked like soda would do. He scowled at his arm, then remembered that he wasn't supposed to complain about that. It was, at least, relatively easy to find something else to complain about.

"You sure you wanna let Yazoo in your shower? You might never get it back, you know," he warned with relative good humor. Mama Strife gave him an amused warning look.

"I'd rather have him clean and busy than glaring daggers at me in here," she said calmly, drawing a cloth over the wound in Loz's arm and ignoring the piteous sounds he was allowing to escape him.

"But why are you being nice to him?" Loz whined, feeling quite ganged up on, sitting there on the sofa with his arm being poked and prodded in ways that reminded him of things he didn't remember while his brother got to take a hot shower. He always got everything anyway. He shouldn't have asked Mama Strife to stop touching him. It woulda served the jerk right if he'd told the lady he liked being snuggled. "Stupid Yazoo..." he grumbled. Mama Strife heaved a sigh as she wiped away the fresh blood from the carefully sown wound.

"Be nice," she chided. "He's your brother."

"Not cause I want him to be," Loz muttered under his breath. The woman made a soft warning sound.

"Do you understand the concept of family, Loz?" she queried a little sharply. "He's your brother, and in truth I don't like either of you. You killed my son." The bandage on his arm was being wrapped tightly but carefully, and Loz was left at a total loss, awash in confusion by the woman's contradictory behavior. She was angry, but she didn't hurt him, or yell, even though she held his only weakness in a firm grip. It would have been really easy for her to squirm a finger down between her stitches and make Loz agree with her, and apologize. He swallowed, staring at her fingers, and hoping she stayed contradictory.

"It was Yazoo's idea," he muttered sullenly, wanting badly for the woman to look at him with the warmth she had while he was mind-numbingly wounded. The woman gave him an even more fierce look.

"Don't. I've accepted what you and your brother did and why. Don't you dare try to shove the blame off on him." Her hands paused briefly in their work, and Loz shrank back, staring at those slim fingers and feeling the unfounded fear build in his chest. Then the woman slowly went back to work, frowning to herself as she did. It looked strange on her face, like it wasn't an expression she was used to. The noise of the shower and the soft, stifled yelps Loz couldn't keep himself from making filled the silence between them.

"Do you know what family really is, Loz?" she asked softly. "It isn't all blood relationships, you know." Loz lifted his gaze to her eyes, confused, and wrinkling his nose, as though to try and smell her meaning out of the air. She was tying off the bandage, her startling blue eyes focused on her work, and her blond hair falling forward to partially obscure her expression. Loz brushed the hair back with his free hand, curious about her expression, his small hand only hesitant in the motion after it was already started. He could almost hear Yazoo's derisive voice scolding him for his impulsiveness. The woman just glanced up at him, then shook her head, sitting back once she finished and brushing away Loz's curious fingers, straightening her own hair.

"A real family," she started, tucking the stray strands of gold behind her ears, with her eyes wandering to the door and the faintest hint of wistfulness entering her stern expression, "is the people you turn to when you have nowhere else to go." The shower shut down, and she muttered a faint curse, rising and walking through the door into the rest of the house. Loz stayed where he was, sitting still on the couch, with his wounded arm held against his chest. He looked down at his hand, and the silver strands of hair still clinging affectionately around the digits. He sniffed a little, and past the strange smells surrounding him, he could make out the murky, acidic scent of Yazoo's blood on him. Slowly, he pulled his uninjured hand closer, closing it around the strands of hair and feeling them pull on his skin slightly, and pressed it against his chest, wondering exactly what really happened while he was asleep.

There were soft voices in the back, and Loz frowned to himself. He despised his brother. If he'd had a choice between Yazoo and Kadaj it would have been an easy choice. Even easier if Mother was with Kadaj, as she had to be. Not that either of them wasnice to him, but he loved them. They were important, and Loz had been made to serve them both. But without them... He sighed softly, letting his head flop back against the pillows and listening to the gentle tone of the woman who had just berated him as she spoke to his older brother a room away. He wanted to go home, and he wanted Yazoo to leave him alone. And yet, at the same time, he was aware he had no home, and never had. So for now... for now it was like Mama Strife had said. Yazoo was all he had, and now that he considered it, Loz knew that he wouldn't leave him. He couldn't. Anything was preferable to the utter solitude that Sephiroth had been so painfully used to.

Yazoo climbed out of the shower on shaky legs, feeling slightly more human, but still shaken. He hadn't been able to close his eyes during the shower—his balance was too poor—so he'd had to look at his bruised and battered form as he scrubbed the filth and sweat off himself. He hated every moment of it. The blood on his thighs was so crusted on he'd had to clean himself raw to get it off. Even the stinging, reddened skin wouldn't make that part of him feel clean. He'd been born used, after all. Nothing pure about him.

There was no way yet he had found to ease the ache in his chest, or the ragged breaths that had, at least, calmed slightly as the panic had. Clean hair was blissful, and he let it hang, loose and wet, about his face rather than trying to restrain it. He'd found himself thinner, and smaller than he had been in life, but was pleased to find that, under the wounds, his musculature was as perfect as ever. Now if only he could get his right arm to cooperate. He'd only barely stifled a scream when he went to clean that shoulder. The touch made the pain inside it flair.

Eventually, there was no more he could clean, and he had forced himself to shut off the water, knowing full well he would never feel truly unblemished. The shower had awoken his flesh somewhat, and raised at least something like color in his almost translucent skin, which made the bruising in the mirror stand out less starkly. He ignored that his hands were shaking, and tried not to think about the stirring arousal brought on by the thorough wash. His body had not gone far into that line of betrayal, but any reminder was too much.

A brief knock sounded and the doorknob turned, interrupting his thoughts. He had the towel out of his hair and around his waist before he could blink. The woman standing in the door froze, a bundle of clothes in hand, the moment she saw him, and Yazoo felt his cheeks flush. Now she was staring at him. It was only slightly more bearable than being fondled. Except, he realized as he forced the listless, uninterested look he used so often onto his face, veiling his eyes with heavy lids, her expression was entirely wrong. She looked at him as if horrified, and he belatedly membered the mangled state he was in. He forced himself not to hide behind the shower curtain as she stepped the rest of the way in and closed the door behind her.

"What?" he hissed, keeping his voice low. The last thing he needed was his damned obnoxious hellion of a brother bursting in as well to add his own input to his pain.

"How many times have you been killed?" the woman asked without preamble, her eyes grim, and fixed on his chest. Yazoo jerked a little, and forced his hands to stay loose at his sides rather than curling close around his injured chest. He allowed a slow blink, keeping his eyes level and uninterested. Or eye, he supposed. He wondered if the other was even matching the expression, or if the eyelid was damaged too.

"It matters?" he snapped softly, instantly aggressive in response to her personal question. He held out an expectant hand, nodding towards the bundle in her hand, and forcing himself not to let out a breath of relief when she passed it over without attempting to touch him. He pulled the shirt sleeve up over his useless arm quickly, and set about fastening the buttons one handed. Normally his natural deftness would have made it an easy task, but the shaking in his fingers was increasing the difficulty. He could see the woman's hands itching to help, and ignored them fiercely. He neither needed or wanted her assistance, especially not with something so trivial as a set of buttons. The rubber-like wobble of his legs underneath him was not even taken into consideration.

"Who killed you?" she questioned calmly, apparently unperturbed by the swollen, reddened bruises on his flesh, even as her hands continued to twitch. Yazoo was starting to wonder if it wasn't out of suppressing the instinct to kill him again, rather than to help. She still held the same look of firm disapproval that had barely wavered since Yazoo arrived, and it took a fair amount of concentration for him not to crumble under it. He was by no means weak willed, but this woman... She was entirely different from, and still equally as strong as their own mother, and Yazoo had learned to fear the ferocious and angry being that ruled them.

"I don't know," he replied truthfully and with a sharp edge, giving up on buttoning the shirt once it covered the most grievous of his wounds and letting it hang open around his abdomen, noting that he'd started the buttons in the wrong holes, making the shirttails lopsided, and not caring in the slightest. "I couldn't see them."

"You don't see much, do you?" chided the woman. "Ahh well. Finish up getting dressed, and try not to keel over dead just yet. Your brother would be most upset with me if you did." She turned to leave the room, and Yazoo sagged so quickly with relief that he would not be required to strip utterly in front of her that he lost his balance and had to sit heavily on the edge of the tub, trembling, and pressing his legs together modestly, even as his face heated with embarrassment. The woman looked back at him again for a long moment, then spoke softly, a very different look in her eyes.

"I hate you," she said softly, "and I was going up that mountain to make you suffer. But now that I see you..." she shook her head slowly, her blonde hair escaping its restraints once more. "I am glad I didn't. Shape up quickly, Yazoo. You're not even halfway there yet." She was gone before he even thought to question her words, and as he painstakingly pulled on the pair of pants she had provided with his one working arm, gazing blankly at the wall before him, he wondered where he was going, that he could get halfway there. Outside, he heard Loz's voice pick up talking to the woman instantly, though he couldn't make out the words, and fought a small, fond smile off his face. At the very least, he thought to himself as he heard the voice pitch upwards into its semi-constant whine, he was not alone. Whether that was a blessing or a curse, he was still deciding.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Zack tilted his head back to the sun for a long moment, basking in the warmth and smell of Aerith's garden. It was a place as much like home to him as anywhere he had ever been, despite the lack of anything remotely house-like. It was a place filled with the peace he had longed for while he lived, and still couldn't solely exist in. He had hoped, when he died, that he would get a break for a while, but it turned out that as much of a failure as he had been in life, the life stream needed a hero as much as anywhere else. In fact, before Aerith joined him, it had been almost unbearable. As wicked as the real world had been to him, somehow it was worse here, where he could see for himself that nothing better awaited most of the people being killed than what they had had in the real world.

He let out a long breath, soaking in the peace of the place, and felt a sting of guilt for being so happy that Aerith was with him. He knew it had almost destroyed Cloud to loose her, and he hated to profit from something that upset his best friend so badly, but, well, he had really needed a place like this. It was free from the stain Jenova had sent pulsing through the rest of the planet's resting place. Well, mostly free from it.

"Why the hell not!?" a young man screamed, not far away. Zack tensed, then let out an exasperated sigh, casting a long-suffering and still somewhat amused smile to the sky. He hadn't been expecting Aerith to bring anyone else to the tranquil plane of existence in the life stream, but he couldn't help but be a little fond of the loud, obnoxious and angry Seph-larva. He turned with an amused smile to watch Aerith calmly patting the young man on the shoulder, and strode over to join them. Kadaj was all but bristling, and ignored his approach entirely, far too busy yelling at Aerith to pay him any mind.

"Where are you going that I can't?" he snapped fiercely. "You said you found my brothers, so why do I have to stayhere?" His anger was palpable, and, as ever, almost seemed to cloud the air around him. Zack stopped nearby, close enough to catch the little hellion if he decided to go for Aerith again, but giving him the benefit of the doubt. He'd already gotten better at not simply attacking whoever he felt like in the short time he'd been there, even after being, gently, told that Aerith wasn't exactly his mother. Of course, for Kadaj, being told something and believing something might as well not have been in the same category. He still called her mother regularly. Aerith, in total opposition to the fuming remnant, smiled benignly and brushed the bangs out of his face, freeing the burning, angry eyes behind the fall of liquid silver.

"Be calm, Kadaj," she scolded softly. "Your brothers are coming. I'm not going to talk to them, or help them. They're on their own, remember?" Kadaj's furious and frustrated pout clearly answered her question, and Zack had to snort and ruffle his perfect hair affectionately. The fact that his hand was indignantly slapped away immediately hardly deterred the young soldier, and he sent a cheeky grin the little clone's way.

"Don't fight with mom, kiddo," he teased calmly. "She's just gunna go mother-hen around to spy on how your bros are doin'." Kadaj's withering glare was somewhat injured by the fact that, to Zack, he looked about the same age that Cloud was when the first met, and half as robust. Ten times as aggressive, of course, but it was like watching a lion cub bristle. Aerith simply sighed at them both, shaking her head slowly, and making the long braid down her back sway.

"You two behave," she scolded sweetly, her tone betraying her honest amusement at the dislike shining in Kadaj's eyes, and the obvious affection Zack felt towards the little shard of Sephiroth. Kadaj's scowl didn't lighten, but the anger surrounding him did, giving way to the startlingly submissive and subtle side of himself he showed very rarely.

"But she calls me when you're not here," he breathed through the unhappy expression. All of them knew who 'she' was. Zack had once wondered if Kadaj might be just a little too over-the-top in his portrayals of how much he disliked Jenova speaking to him, right up until the first time he saw the boy writhing on the ground and bleeding from the ears as the invisible voice assaulted him. It seemed to have eased off since his brothers appeared in the life stream, and there was an unspoken worry between the three that meant she was after one of the two less-whole boys. Aerith's smile, to her credit, didn't falter. Instead, she opened her arms to the damaged child and waited. He only hesitated a moment before submitting to her embrace, moving forward in a half-embarrassed slouch before melding into the motherly hold. Zack shooed the jealousy out of his heart, looking at their hug, and reminding himself forcibly that Kadaj had never had this before—didn't have parents in Gongaga who, one day, would join him in the after life and hug him till he bruised. The jealousy subsided startlingly fast at the image, and was replaced by a warm and only slightly wistful sigh. Besides, thinking of Aerith as his mom... definitely ill-advised.

"You have to come back soon," Kadaj snapped, the impact of the sharply spoken words somewhat muffled by the fabric of Aerith's trademark dress. She caught Zack's eyes over Kadaj's shoulder, and shared a brief, sweet smile with him. Zack shook his head a little, and vaguely missed not having a moody teenager getting between them at every opportunity. Then he saw the slight shake in Kadaj's hair that gave away the true tension underlying the bratty attitude, and heaved a sigh.

"She'll be back when she gets back, kid," he said calmly, putting his hands on his hips and leaning back. "Instead 'a moping, how about you and I get some sparring in while she's not here to scold us for not bein' grown up? Unless you're nervous about fighting a real Soldier, that is." Kadaj's acidic eyes were instantly turned on him, and the little hellion gave a wicked, fierce grin, and jerked his head briefly, indicating the wide open expanse of flowers.

"Fine. Wouldn't wanna loose my edge before the others arrive." He replied snappily, his diction, as always, fading with his tension. Then the unhappy pout returned, and Zack had to fight the urge to burst into laughter. "I miss Souba." Zack shook his head a little, and gave Aerith a wink over his shoulder as he steered the boy away from her. When he glanced back again, she was gone, and he let out a long breath. Kadaj mirrored the motion, and looked up at him with his uncanny eyes, the cat-like pupils mere slits.

"You know I'd go nuts if I fought you while she's talking," he muttered, his voice sullen, but with an edge of uneasiness to it. Zack allowed his older-brother instincts, so well in practice from all those years spent with Cloud, to kick in, and pulled the kid into a fierce half-hug, feeling the jitter under his skin caused by the alien's presence in his head, and counting his blessings that the little powerhouse had decided Aerith was a better mother. For the first time in years, it was a sign of hope for the life stream, that someone with a connection to her was actually fighting Jenova.

Kadaj struggled briefly against the hug, then sagged into it bonelessly as Jenova invaded his small form. Zack frowned as Kadaj's vibrant eyes rolled back in his head and plush lips parted in a silent gasp for air. He was so light that Zack could support him just with the hug he'd pulled him into, but he didn't. The boy couldn't be comfortable in that hold, and Zack didn't hate him. The kid had felt enough hate in his life. He moved slowly to his knees, coaxing the alternately stiff and noodle-like body into a more comfortable position, curled on the ground with his head and shoulders settled in Zack's lap, shivering against him, and surrounded by the pale flowers of Aerith's domain.

He looked, Zack thought to himself with a sad, fond smile, like a true angel, curled up in the meadow—like a child asleep in a parent's lap. Except for the soft, uneven gasps of alarm and pain wringing from his lips. Zack settled in to wait, and was startled when a startlingly strong cream-pale hand gripped his own tanned wrist in a fierce hold. He looked down in surprise, and found the green eyes flickering behind dark lashes, startled to see the indication of consciousness. Usually when he was fighting Jenova, he became almost comatose.

"My brothers," he moaned softly, and Zack's heart froze for a second before leaping to his throat. If that was what Jenova was talking to him about, they might be in more trouble than he thought. He could already see the confusion and rage seeping into that pained look, and he swallowed back his apprehension. The kid was doing his best. Zack owed him much more than the benefit of the doubt. "They..." the boy managed before a sharp scream interrupted the flow of words, setting Zack's ears to ringing. He instantly shushed the little thing, using the hand that wasn't being clutched in a death grip to stroke the silver curtain of hair out of the hurting boy's face.

"They're a little torn up," he said softly. His honor wouldn't let him lie, and even if he had, if everything worked out, they would be there soon, and the little wildcat in his lap would know. "But they're gunna be fine, Kadaj. They'll be fine. They've just gotta work through it themselves. Don't let that bitch get to you." Before he was even done with his speech, Kadaj's eyes had rolled back again, leaving him limp and lifeless in Zack's hold. Zack closed his eyes, and hoped to Gaia that he wasn't lying. Never mind that Gaia was their enemy in this. There was no one else for him to hope to, and even if she didn't listen, it was better than silently watching the boy in his lap suffer and fight. Zack had never been one to stand down from a fight. The fact that he couldn't help Kadaj with this, aside from being there when he snapped out of it once more, was slowly destroying a piece of him that had only just mended, as he watched Cloud recover himself.

"Oh my," were the first words out of Aerith's mouth after she walked into the life stream's version of her little church in the slums. Technically, since the building hadn't been destroyed, it shouldn't have been there, but Gaia had been known to make exceptions for the ones she loved. Though in Aerith's case, she was ready for the little church she loved so much to disappear at any moment out of displeasure with her. However, for the moment, it remained upright and in just the perfect state of decay to give it the natural, beautiful look it had displayed while she lived. No, what startled Aerith was what she saw when she looked into the water to check in on Cloud's wonderful mother.

"Yeah, well, I'd like to see you keep your hair pretty looking after these two," Mrs. Strife grumbled unhappily to herself, tucking a wild strand of blonde hair back into place in her bun. Aerith tried to restrain her amused smile, but failed completely, eyes crinkling in amusement at the rather exasperated and harrowed look on her face.

"Are they that bad, Mrs. Strife?" she asked, with a slight trace of fear, even through her amusement. The blonde haired woman rolled her eyes, but the look of stress on her face was much less amusing than the way her hair had a tendency to pop out into wild spikes when she wasn't paying enough attention to it.

"Aerith, for the thousandth time, don't 'Mrs. Strife' me. You know I hate it. Call me 'Lillian.' Everyone I don't like calls me Mrs. Strife." Aerith's lips twitched into a smile again, but a feeling of disquietude was settling in her chest, and she caught her hands clasping before her, as though in prayer, though that certainly wouldn't help this time.

"So that's what the boys call you, then," she guessed softly, worried despite her conviction when appealing to Gaia to give the less 'important' of the trio a chance. If they couldn't win the secretly soft-hearted woman over, they would have a difficult time with the rest of the world they had almost managed to destroy. The woman's heavy sigh damaged Aerith's feeling of peace further still.

"They're... difficult," she replied, and Aerith was well aware that the woman was being careful with her phrasing for her sake. "The little one, Loz, might stand a chance. He learns quickly, and his mind is still open, but..."she trailed off, eyes narrowing somewhat, and Aerith took a deep, bracing breath, her calm mask still in place. She couldn't allow herself to become too attached to the idea of having all three silver haired brothers in her peaceful realm, fighting on their side against the stain in the life stream.

"But?" she prompted carefully.

"The older one's already died, and more than once," the woman said, with a grim look on her face, "and I an see why. He's unrepentant, and strange. Almost inhuman. He can't stand being touched, or touching, he's surly, and empty."

"But," Aerith prompted once more, hope in her eyes. Lillian sighed, pushing her hair back again, and Aerith almost laughed once more. It seemed to plague her almost as much as Cloud's hair had once plagued him before he gave up and let it take charge. To her relief, the woman shook her head slightly, as though in frustration.

"But when I found them, he was protecting his brother. He was handing himself over to Gruber to protect his the little guy. How can I possibly hate him after seeing that!?" Aerith sighed, picking up the note of hopelessness in Lillian's voice. She had known, upon asking the woman to consider taking them in for a while, that Lillian hated both of them for destroying her son (or trying to at least.) It was just that Aerith couldn't help them, and she knew they needed someone. Someone older, who knew how things were supposed to be, to put them at least somewhat on track. Unfortunately, her own mother had refused. Kind and wonderful though she was, she was tied too tightly to the planet, and could no go against Gaia's wishes and aid her attackers. Aerith couldn't blame her for it, but it had left her with very few choices. Gast was right out. Sending the boys to anyone with the word 'professor' in their title would have been asking for homicide. So, really, without Zack's parents in the picture, there had only been one choice.

"I know this is hard for you, Lillian," she said softly, her brows furrowed, "and I'll help you however I can, but there's not a great deal I'm allowed to do. I've already interfered with the boys too much, by putting Loz somewhere safe when he arrived." Mrs. Strife's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Only Loz," she stated carefully, as though making sure. Aerith lowered her eyes in shame.

"I could only give one of them that head start," she said softly, "and Loz is so much younger in heart, I couldn't let him be destroyed before he even had a chance." Lillian's eyes were narrowed in frustration.

"So Yazoo..."

"Was put where Gaia wanted him. In the middle of a wasteland, surrounded by the people he killed."

"The stigma?" Mrs. Strife asked with a resigned note in her voice. Aerith licked her lips, and shook her head.

"No," she said softly, "we still don't know what happened to the stigma victims. They've all disappeared from the life stream." Lillian's eyes narrowed at the news, and Aerith could almost see her thinking what it would have been like to have her son among those people.

"Then who?" she finally asked, looking tired and older than she had in the many years Aerith knew her since Sephiroth had been defeated the first time, leaving her son safe.

"The ones he killed himself," she answered softly. "The ones who got in his way. Yazoo is not a good man, Lillian, and he is not safe. He is broken, and it is not entirely his fault, but he took it upon himself to deal with the 'dirty work' the three of them had to take on."

"Like torturing those Turks," Lillian filled in with a slow nod, glancing behind herself.

"Even that was just business, in a way," Aerith said softly, nose wrinkling in distaste at the words. "The ones who killed him when he showed up? They're the ones he murdered in cold blood." She swallowed, watching the realization in Mrs. Strife's eyes, and muttered a mental apology to the boy, wishing she could tell the woman that he was safe, and merely broken.

"He killed," she listed softly, "two husband and wife couples, so that he and his brothers could use their houses as a home base, thirteen citizens of Midgar, by summoning his beasts on them, or simply shooting them himself when they got in his way, or in the way of Bahamut Sin, and eleven more in the slums, for... I'm not really sure what for. Be careful, Lillian. You're stronger than him—he's barely even half there, really, and what there is to him is damaged already from the trials he's faced, but he can be dangerous."

Lillian was silent for a long moment, thinking, with her eyes narrowed, and Aerith could feel her heartbeat in her throat, despite having ceased needing a heartbeat many years ago. She wanted Yazoo and Loz to make it, but she couldn't let Lillian stay in the dark about what the two of them had done. They weren't monsters, she was certain. No more than little Kadaj was. They were just victimized children, who had been turned into killers before they were old enough to drink.

"When I told him to go to sleep last night," Lillian said softly, startling Aerith out of her thoughts, "he automatically assumed I wanted to sleep...with him. And he looked terrified." Lillian's eyes lifted again, and there was a fire in them. "This morning, after he showered, I walked in on him still undressed, and he looked like death warmed over. It doesn't matter what he did. No child deserves that, not even one who's murdered before." Aerith's warm smile lit up her face, and her eyes sparkled with fondness. Lillian looked just like Cloud when she was determined, and it never failed to make her heart ache ever so slightly to see those familiar features dead-set in resolution.

"I see," she said softly, not hiding her relief. "Thank you, Lillian."

"They won't be staying long, mind you," Lillian snapped. "Just long enough that they can get out there again without getting themselves killed instantly."

"Of course," Aerith replied with a placid smile. "After all, we both know they have a lot of work to do if they want to earn their place here, right?" Lillian answered with a stern nod, then softened briefly.

"How's Kadaj?" she asked, and Aerith had to chuckle.

"Stubborn as ever, just like his big brother," she snickered happily.

"Cloud is not that child's brother, Aerith," Lillian scolded sharply. "But I will settle for him being my nephew, if I must." Aerith nearly choked, and had to fold over in a fit of laughter.

"But wouldn't that make him C-Cloud's-" she gasped in amusement. Lillian's eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open"

"God, no!" she cried, "I meant an honorary nephew!" Aerith's snickering failed to subside in the slightest, and Lillian eventually grew tired of waiting.

"Anyway," she prompted firmly, "how's the boy doing?" Aerith's laughter subsided.

"He's strong," she answered calmly, "but so is Jenova. She's doing her best to get him back, and we're doing our best to keep him with us. Zack's with him now, and I should probably be getting back soon..." She cast a glance over her shoulder, as though she could see the meadow through the church doors.

"Right. I'd better go make sure Yazoo hasn't throttled Loz yet myself," Lillian sighed with a long-suffering look. "You'd think they despised each other."

"Just look after them?" Aerith asked softly, the mirth gone from her voice, and leaving it soft, but barren. "Kadaj needs their support to keep up his fight, and all of us need him to keep fighting."

"Never you fear about that," Mrs. Strife responded sharply, instantly slipping back into the persona of the firm but loving mother she had been to Cloud. "They'll learn a few manners while they're here, and I'll get 'em fixed up or my name isn't Lillian Strife." Aerith smiled widely and nodded, trusting the woman completely. If anyone could get Loz and Yazoo onto the right track, Lillian was the one to do it. With a final nod, she rose and flounced through the church back to her carefully cultivated meadow, arriving to find Kadaj half-curled in her lover's lap. Zack's wide blue eyes were already fixed on her. Her smile brightened, knowing he'd been waiting, and walked over to settle in beside him, running careful fingers over Kadaj's hair and pressing a kiss to the scar on Zack's cheek that remained, even after all these years, as a reminder to himself.

"She okay?" Zack asked softly, though he no doubt already knew the answer from the pleased look on Aerith's face.

"Our boys are in good hands," she said softly, leaning against Zack. His half-nervous answering laugh only widened her smile, as did the familiar motion of his hand moving up to sweep through his mass of spiked hair.

"Good stuff," he said as Kadaj wiggled around in his lap to sleepily half-drape over Aerith's as well, still deeply unconscious, but unremittingly snuggly. "Maybe we'll have some playmates for our buddy here soon and I can go back to work."

"Maybe," Aerith suggested instead, curling a hand over Zack's wide, calloused palm, "we can win this, and you'll finally be able to rest." The soft lips that covered her own were answer enough, and she sighed into their touch, letting her eyes fall closed to the sight of Zack's deeply tanned skin and dark lashes.

"You know it's wrong," Zack whispered as he pulled back, his fingers curled around Aerith's affectionately. "What we're asking the kid to do. We're using him just as much as his mother did. The fact that it's for the good of everyone else..." Aerith opened her eyes again to see Zack shaking his head slowly. "That doesn't make it right to use him like this."

"He's willing," Aerith said softly, though her heart ached, watching her honor-bound lover's brows furrow in pain over the boy's predicament.

"He's young, and he wants to please you," Zack argued, his voice gentle, and going out of his way to make it obvious he wasn't mad at her, his eyes glowing gently as they gazed at their joined hands. "It's just like it was with Jenova."

"It's not," Aerith argued softly. "We would never hurt him."

"But he gets hurt," Zack argued, his words vehement, and his mouth set in a scowl that didn't become him in the slightest. "And we let him. I know we don't have a choice, but Aer-"

"Don't," Aerith said softly. "Think of it this way, Zack." She lifted her hand out of Kadaj's hair to cup her lover's cheek, making the little body in their laps grumble and wiggle a little before falling still in a position that could not have been comfortable, his entire upper half twisted into Aerith's lap as though pouring himself of Zack's. He looked like a particularly long and flexible cat. "What would happen to him if Jenova won?"

Zack's eyes lowered to the boy's face, and Aerith could see the words sinking in, warring with Zack's innate urge to protect those around him, and his remaining guilt at allowing Cloud, an innocent, to become entangled in the web of Shinra and be forced into the role of the planet's hero. Aerith held her breath, because Zack could decide, at any moment, to walk away from this, and she knew Kadaj would be lost without them both. Her he depended on as a mother, to praise him and dote on him, but he needed more than that, whether he thought he did or not. Zack filled a gap in the boy that he had probably never even been aware of. He challenged him, and coaxed him, carefully, like a feral animal being drawn into society. Zack was slowly, and carefully, helping to acclimate Kadaj to a world where not everyone wanted him dead, just as he had tried to do with Sephiroth. He was perfect for the role this time, though, and Kadaj was willing to listen, unlike the man he had been created from. But even if Zack chose to stay... Even with both of them, Kadaj would not be able to win alone. Jenova was too powerful for one boy alone to be her undoing. He needed support, and there were only two in existence he would accept it from.

'Gaia,' she whispered, for only herself and the planet to hear, 'please let them make it. If they don't...' she couldn't even finish the thought. With Kadaj curled against her lap, and her lover's calm presence beside her, she refused to let her mind go into the darkness that would be that future.

Kadaj needed his brothers, and so, they all did.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Loz burst into laughter when he saw Yazoo in normal clothes, and couldn't have stopped laughing for the world. After all, it was rare that he got to tease his stoic brother for anything, and now the perfect opportunity had arrived! He'd walked in there, with a stiff version of his usual slink, and Loz had seen the perfect fallacy. Yazoo dressed like a normal person. Now that was seriously funny. His arm ached from the somewhat helpless laughing fit, and his face was seriously considering cracking from mirth, but he just kept on cackling. It only got worse when he peeked his eyes open in time to see Yazoo attempt to cross his arms only to have one of them stay stubbornly at his side, causing him to give it the same black look he was giving Loz. The younger remnant had folded, turning into the pillow behind him to muffle the screams of amusement, jarring his arm in the process. His proclamation of pain was equally muffled, and utterly drowned out by mirth.

"Whenever you're finished," Yazoo's cold voice proclaimed, cutting through the still air. Loz pretended to ignore him, but, as ever, the distaste in his voice hurt in a way he didn't quite understand. He despised Yazoo, so it shouldn't have bothered him that the feeling was mutual. But it still hurt. He couldn't force the laughter much longer in the face of his brother's stony silence, and he peered out of his pillow hiding place to glance at him, finding his face disapproving, and the skin at the collar of the shirt a strange color, but otherwise utterly himself, standing titled to one side slightly, with his blind eye gazing eerily at Loz. The boy found himself irrepressibly awed by the blank orb, and couldn't help but stare at it when he was talking to Yazoo. He could remember that eye when it wasn't there, and the way it had re-grown in the water fascinated him, as did the dull, murky color that made it look like there was something lurking just beneath the surface.

He fell silent, tilting his head just a little bit out of the pillows to get a better look at the fascinating imperfection on his otherwise flawlessly pretty brother. He did look really weird in a long-sleeved sweater and blue jeans, but not particularly bad. The dark sweater set off how bright his skin and hair were, and accentuated his recent cleanliness. The boot print was, thankfully, gone from the side of his face. Loz hadn't liked the reminder one bit.

"So are you done yet, or would you like to take another chance, little brother," the older clone snapped cruelly, every word coming out meaner than the last. Very very carefully, Loz reached behind him with his good arm, gripped a pillow, and flung it at Yazoo's head. To his immense pleasure, Yazoo didn't react quite quickly enough to dodge the thing and it bounced straight off his chest. Yazoo's wince at the contact was unexpected and worrying, and Loz instantly sat up straighter.

"What's wrong?" he asked in worry, his wounded arm still held stiffly against his chest, but otherwise feeling much more alert and alive than he had the day before. He barely even remembered the day before, except for the feel of arms around him and the scent of blood and fear.

"Nothing," snarled Yazoo, picking the pillow up from his feet, "aside from you being a pain in my side, of course." The pillow was thrown back much harder than Loz had thrown it, and he flinched way from the thing, unable to dodge it, but protecting his wounded arm from the rather hard impact before whirling on his brother.

"You're just a meanie!" he accused loudly. "I can't believe I was worried about you!" One of Yazoo's eyebrows inched upwards, and, again, he made the abruptly cut-off gesture as he tried and failed to cross his arms.

"Lower your voice," he scolded, his voice biting and derisive. "I don't want that woman coming back a moment before she must."

"You can't be mean to mama," Loz scolded his brother in return, receiving a stunned, angry look from him. He flinched a little. Yazoo wouldn't take kindly to that.

"That woman," the deep-voiced remnant purred as he glided forward, the slight jerkiness in his step only making the slow approach more intimidating, "is not our mother." Loz found himself pressing back against the sofa without meaning to, and in alarm at the fact that he might be backing down, pushed to his feet, standing on the sofa, and thereby putting himself above Yazoo's eyeline again. It was good to see him from above again, despite the anger boiling in him that had led him to the position.

"Why can't she be?" he snapped, angry, and wishing he could hurt his brother with words alone, like Yazoo could so easily do to him. "She's nii-san's mom, and she's way nicer than mother!"

The hand that jerked the cushion he was standing on off the sofa and sent him tumbling back down onto the back of the sofa with a soft yelp caught him completely off guard, as did the contact of said sofa cushion against the side of his head, setting his ear to ringing and pulling another cry of protest from him.

"You can't pick and choose, moron," Yazoo snapped, tossing the pillow lazily onto Loz's lap as he slumped in the blank space where it ought to have been. "Besides, I thought you loved mother." The sneer that crossed his lips made Loz grit his teeth in fury, but he was so tired, he couldn't manage rage. It turned, all too quickly, into the bubbling, sick sensation of misery, and he couldn't stop his breath from hiccuping slightly. He knew even before his eyes started burning a little that he was going to cry again. Yazoo's low moan fell into the air even before Loz's first tear did.

"Stop that," he snapped, his working hand going to his hip. "Do you think crying is going to get you what you want? Do you think mother cares if you're unhappy with her?" Loz's control snapped, and not in the way he would have liked. Yazoo's pretty, condescending face remained disappointingly intact, and instead a keening sound of misery wrung itself from him against his will, and built into a full blow sobbing fit, sitting there with his eyes still half-open and too miserable to bother curling up around the cushion still half-lying on him or storm away.

"I hate you," he accused in a whine so distorted it was almost unintelligible. When Yazoo snorted and opened his mouth, Loz's rage rose and he repeated the phrase in a high pitched shriek, the type of which he did not think he had ever even heard before. It hurt his own ears, and from the way Yazoo recoiled from him with a wince, it must have hurt him to. Spurred on by the effect the sound had, Loz repeated it, this time in a scream that he could only manage because the tears were clogging his throat and muffling his ears enough that he couldn't quite hear himself. He had his eyes firmly closed now, and wasn't entirely sure what he was screaming about in particular. Only that he knew it hurt Yazoo, and at that moment, that was all he wanted. He wasn't entirely unprepared for the hand that clamped over his mouth, but when he snapped his eyes open to glare, ready and willing to bit the soft flesh, he found himself looking into extremely unhappy blue eyes. The piercing yowl trailed off into a quiet meep, and Loz shrunk back in the sofa before raising a hand quickly to point at his brother.

"He started it," he said behind mama Strife's hand. The woman clicked her tongue at him and released the hand more carefully than Yazoo would have, not leaving marks or lingering pain in Loz's face. Loz shrunk back a little and cowered under the sofa cushion. He was well aware that gentility could be misleading.

"That's just about enough out of the two of you." She snapped, putting her hands on her hips and glancing between Loz and his brother. Yazoo appeared to have gone back to studying the blank wall as though it were deeply interesting. If Mama Strife hadn't been glowering at him, Loz would have thrown the sofa cushion at him just to get a reaction. He hated his brother's nonchalant blankness. The woman stood a moment longer, looking at both of them, then huffed.

"Yazoo, go in the kitchen. I need to talk to your brother, then you and I are going to have a little chat too." There was no question in her voice as to whether the elder remnant would obey the instruction, and to Loz's considerable surprise Yazoo did so, pacing stiffly into the next room. He closed the door behind himself with a quiet click that neatly hid any emotion he might have been feeling. If he could feel. Loz still hadn't decided yet. The moment he was gone, the formidable woman heaved another sigh and turned her hauntingly familiar blue eyes to him, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Stand up, young man." She ordered him, and Loz scrambled to do so, banging his arm no less than three times in the process and almost managing to fall flat on his face when he forgot about the sofa cushion in his lab inhibiting his movement. Eventually he managed to end up on the floor, and stumbled only briefly as he tried to look up at Mrs. Strife. Whatever had been wrong with him the day before, it wasn't gone yet. The woman appeared to ignore the stumble in favor of lifting the cushion and brushing it off briskly before setting it back in place on the sofa and turning back to Loz, regarding him with a measure of sternness Loz himself had never had to face. He vaguely recalled someone who both was and wasn't him feeling something in the center of his chest while he was stared down by another mother's angry eyes, but he didn't really remember.

"You are a mess," she proclaimed after a long silence. "Now sit back down before you fall over. You're in for a scolding, young man, and I don't want to hear a word out of you until I'm done, understand?" Loz hoped the small sound he made in the back of his throat was a good enough answer, because his voice was hiding from the daintily-built woman as much as he wished he could. He skirted around her to get himself back to the sofa, and sat, the force of her glare pinning him to the spot and heating his eyes with tears again. He didn't want her to be angry at him. For a moment longer, she glared down at him, then with a breath she straightened her modest skirt and knelt before him, putting them on about the same level, as Loz realized he had been cowering somewhat. He didn't try to sit up straighter.

"You can't just do things like that," Mrs. Strife scolded softly. Loz instantly perked up a little at the sound of her voice. She didn't sound furious. Just... tired. "I know you're frustrated, and hurting, and trust me, I understand that siblings can be annoying, but reacting like you did is unacceptable, Loz." The words hurt, but her voice was still calm enough that Loz dared to break her command.

"He isn't annoying," he corrected, his voice quavering a little from the misery still huddled in his throat, "he's horrible, and I hate him." Blue eyes widened, and one of her hands lifted towards his face. He winced, expecting pain in retaliations for saying such a thing about a favored son, and was stunned when instead it rested lightly and hesitantly on his cheek.

"I think you're lying," the woman's voice corrected, and Loz sniffled, looking back at her. "I think you know your brother is trying just as hard to get used to this as you are, and that you're intentionally mistaking frustration with him for hate, because it's so much easier. Trust me, I understand the impulse. Think about what you said, Loz, and what you actually know about your brother." As she rose to her feet once more, something seemed to occur to her, and she turned back to the somewhat shell-shocked Loz.

"But before I go talk to Yazoo about not antagonizing you, you owe me an apology, young man." Her voice was back at it's very-small-drill-sergeant level, and Loz gulped before stammering out an apology. The fact that she then nodded and walked away made him hopeful it had come out correctly. Then his spirits fell again as he wondered over what had just been said to him. How could he not hate Yazoo? He was mean, and smart, and so damn perfect that everyone had to love him more than his dorky brother. At least while they were alive, Loz had had a physical advantage over him. Now he had nothing that Yazoo didn't, except a working left eye. And yet, from the way she reacted, mama had acted as if Loz was just fooling himself into believing that hatred. He thought back, as she had instructed, over what he knew of Yazoo. He knew that mother talked to him more than she did to Loz himself, and only a little less than she did to Kadaj. He knew that Yazoo enjoyed being the one to hurt and kill the people they came across, because he never let either of his brothers take a turn. He knew that he loved Kadaj more than anything, mother included, which just wasn't fair in the slightest, and he knew that everyone thought he was wonderful just because he was pretty.

No, Loz was certain he hated Yazoo, whether his new mom thought so or not. He had made up his mind about his willowy brother a long time ago, or, at least, as long ago as he could remember, and he wasn't about to change it now, even if he was relying kinda heavily on him. It was only until they found Kadaj and their real Mother—their kaa-san. Then he would go back to ignoring that Yazoo existed, and he would find a way to make sure that mother and Kadaj both liked him best this time, and watch Yazoo squirm as he realized that he was the useless one this time. The thought was cheering enough that it chased away a little of the unwelcome fear still lingering from the heat behind his new-mom's eyes, which looked so very much like their killer's.

As he snagged the pillows that had fallen into various places across the sofa and the surrounding floor, using only his good arm, he smiled to himself, confident that things would go his way, eventually. When he settled back, he made a quiet note, in the back of his mind, where he was less full of confidence, not to make the screeching sound again, just in case.

"I'm not interested in your lectures," Yazoo said firmly the moment he heard footsteps enter the room with him. He had his blind side to the door. He did not want to see the woman he knew had just walked in.

"Too bad," she replied instantly. Yazoo had to work not to attack her for the fierceness in her voice. She sounded just like her son. "What the hell is wrong with you? You're half-dead and all you can think to do is pick fights with the one person on your side?"

"How can I be half-dead?" Yazoo snapped back, lifting his chin and gazing indignantly out the window into the nothingness outside. "This is the damn life stream. I've been dead for the past..." He trailed off, not knowing how long it had been. The woman he was refusing to look at huffed.

"You've been dead three weeks," she answered, "but it was only three days ago you two actually showed up here." Yazoo's brow furrowed, and before he could remember to stop himself, he had looked over at the woman with his working eye. She looked smaller than he remembered her from only moments before. Rage made her a giant.

"I do not know how time flows here," he allowed with a sharp edge, "but I know we have not been in this house for three days." Her eye roll frustrated him to no end. He was very like his creator in that he liked to be taken seriously at all times. Not that he had known that before this woman came along and rolled her eyes at him. Even the redheaded Turk had taken him more seriously. Before he could snap, she was talking again.

"I didn't mean my house. I meant the life stream itself. You've been in the life stream for three days." Yazoo's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"But dead for three weeks," he clarified. Her answering nod sent a spine of hatred through him. "So what does that make us?" he asked her fiercely, tired of a new and troubling revelation springing on him every time he spoke with the woman. Her soft sigh was easy to ignore, and he glared at her, wondering if he were to reach for her throat whether his lack of depth perception would damage the effort to kill her.

"You know better than I do," she said, waving him off. Yazoo's lips pressed into a thin line, and he could feel the blood draining from his face as he fumed at the words. "I'd guess a soul, like the rest of us. It's just that you two couldn't get here until someone vouched for you. You're lucky you have friends in high places." Yazoo's blood turned to ice, and he didn't care that the woman's eyes narrowed as he stalked closer to her.

"Lucky?" he repeated in a slow, drawn-out sneer that sounded ugly and hollow even to him. "You think I'm lucky?"

"Calm down," she warned him coolly.

"You think I want this!?" he yelled, his cool shattered in the face of the knowledge. "You think I want to be here with you and that... that insufferable thing in the next room!? Who's the 'friend' who spoke for us? I'll gut them where they stand!"

He was unprepared for the cold water that splashed in his face, but it did serve to end his rant rather abruptly in a gasp.

"Hold your tongue," Mrs. Strife warned as she placed the empty glass on the counter. "I don't think you should make promises you won't follow through on."

"What makes you think I won't?" growled Yazoo as he swiped at his newly wet face. His eyes were burning with rage, and how he had not killed the slight woman before him yet was an utter mystery to him. He could have done the same thing he'd done on earth, and murdered her for the use of her house, but then, with what he knew of the life stream, it seemed likely she'd just pop back to life and take it out of his hide. He was contemplating how best he could incapacitate and hold her without killing her thoroughly enough for her to revive as he had when she managed to once again make his mind freeze in its tracks. Her voice held just a hint of sly amusement that put the part of Yazoo not stunned to silence on edge, but the words cut him to the core.

"Because I know you wouldn't gut Kadaj."

Her eyes were fixed on him, with a knowing, powerful glint in her eyes, and Yazoo took a step back, staring at her. That name struck so many chords within him that the noise of it was deafening. For a long moment they stood in silence, then Yazoo forced himself to ask the question he was dreading the answer to—the one that had plagued him since he first awoke and he had not dared speak before.

"Is he here?" The woman's face softened just a touch.

"Yes," she said, her voice softer and less aggressive than Yazoo had yet heard. "He's in the life stream. But you can't see him. Not yet." Whatever passiveness had entered Yazoo with his shock wore off just as fast.

"What the hell do you mean?" he hissed. "He's my brother."

"Yes, yes, I know. Your brother, your little angel, your leader, etcetera."

"Angel is a bad translation," Yazoo growled, his insides twisting at the thought of Kadaj so close and so invisible to him. The way the woman flippantly quoted their nicknames for their precious brother infuriated him.

"Oh?" Mrs. Strife questioned, her eyebrows raising. Yazoo crouched just a little, eyes narrowing. She was going to tell him where his Kadaj was if he had to cut the answer out of her. He was more than capable, and more than happy to do so, if it got him closer to his precious brother. "What does it mean then?"

"Servant of heaven," a small voice from the door said, drawing the attention of both the room's occupants. Loz was standing in the doorway, gripping a pillow one-handed to his chest and staring at the blonde woman with fear and longing in his gaze. "Why can't we see him?"

"Didn't I tell you to stay in the other room, Loz?" she said with a strange sad note to her voice, her hands resting on her hips. The obnoxious little bastard (Yazoo still hadn't forgiven him for that damned scream) didn't answer, but stepped forward cautiously, as though expecting to be shoved out at any moment.

"You've seen Tenshi," the boy questioned softly, and Yazoo could actually see the anger leaving the woman in the face of his unbearable little brother, and smothered the rage that rose up in him at that. Whatever it took to get the information he needed, it was worth it, even if he had to use the little bastard to loosen the woman's lips. A gusty sigh left Mrs. Strife.

"Yes, I have," she agreed. "He's very different from the two of you." Loz didn't react to the words in the slightest, instead taking a small step forward again. It didn't escape Yazoo's notice that little Loz still smelled heavily of his own blood, and the same strangely sweet scent from the day before, though at least the latter had faded enough not to make him nauseous.

"He's safe?" Loz asked in a small voice.

"If we were talking about Yazoo you'd be jealous," Mrs. Strife observed. Yazoo jerked at the sound of his name spoken in that voice.

"Answer the question," he growled. He hadn't liked the lack of distaste in her voice when she spoke his name. He did not want this woman as an ally. She shot him a glare, then crouched, putting herself on eye level with Loz and completely ignoring the elder of the two. Yazoo didn't allow himself to be frustrated. It didn't make any sense to want her to leave him the hell alone and be upset when she did so.

"He's fine," she reassured, and a weight on Yazoo's shoulders lifted slowly. "He's staying with Zack and Aerith, and driving them both half crazy. He's very willful." Yazoo's chest ached sharply, and his hand curled automatically, sorrow rising in a tide that threatened to overwhelm him. It should have been him at Kadaj's side, not those two, and yet, even as that thought passed through him, so did a great relief that Kadaj was finally with two people as pure as he was. Maybe Zack held him when he had nightmares, and didn't taint him with the action, as Yazoo knew he had. Jenova had told him as much, after all. He was jerked back to real life at the sound of a little sob from across the room, and lifted a scowl to his little brother.

"Don't cry, Loz," he snapped sharply, his anger and jealousy slipping through into his voice. He received a fierce look from the blonde woman, and was stunned to silence when she opened her arms to his crying brother. He stood estranged from the other two as Loz accepted the offer and ran forward into her hug, turning his face into her shirt to muffle his choked, helpless sobs. Yazoo watched the two of them, detached, and feeling strangely betrayed that this woman had not only gotten to be with Kadaj when he himself could not, but now had stolen even his least favorite brother from him. His blind eye burned.

'Worthless,' the voice of Sephiroth reminded him in his head.

'I know,' he thought back to himself, feeling the pull of new scars under his borrowed clothes as he breathed, and the ache in his chest and stomach and mind at the loss of his Kadaj to those worthy of him. He watched Mrs. Strife run her hands through his brother's hair for a moment more, taking in the way his small working hand clenched in her shirt and how he wasn't bothering to react to the fact that his wounded arm was pressing painfully against her, then he turned away, giving the sight of them up to his blindness and looking out the window again into nothing. He could almost see it, in his mind, how Zack would tousle Kadaj's hair, and grin at him, his bounciness at odds with Kadaj's grim madness. His little brother would huff, and put up with it, and secretly love the contact and affection, though no one would ever see it. Or maybe they would. Aerith would. She had seen everything—had been the one to actually steal Kadaj from them, if Yazoo didn't mis-recognize that voice, and he was certain he had not. She would see the affection in him, beneath the surface, and fix him so that Jenova couldn't hurt him any more—something Yazoo could never have done—and Kadaj would realize how much better off he was with the good people, and he and Loz would be forgotten. The thought was like dying again, except his chest didn't even try to heal. The feeling of a boot pressing on his chest didn't lift, and he was left to bear it.

"What do we have to do?" a soft, musical voice said, and for a moment Yazoo wasn't sure if he had spoken without realizing it before it struck him that it was just that he had never heard Loz speak in that way before. He had always been slightly confused, or playful, or annoyed, or crying. Now there was an old hollowness to his voice, with a ridge of backbone behind it. He sounded like Sephiroth as a child. He sounded like he was ready for the world. Yazoo had to look back to the other two in the room.

Loz was pulling away slowly from Cloud's mother with tears still falling from his too-bright eyes and a stern, solid look on his face. In return, the other woman was smiling at him gently, with what appeared to be honest affection in her eyes.

"I'm not sure," she answered, and Yazoo could tell it was the truth from the disappointment hinted at in her tone. "But I know you can, Loz."

"So... if we try hard enough?" the younger remnant queried cautiously.

"Don't be stupid," Yazoo snapped, earning himself a glare from the Strife woman and a stricken look from his brother. "Why would he want to see us?" this time when Loz threw the pillow at him, still looking like Yazoo had just punched him in the gut instead of speaking sense, Yazoo had the presence of mind and the alertness to dodge, letting it thump dully against the cabenites behind him. When he looked back to Loz with a superior glint in his eyes, his heart sunk at the look on the younger remnant's face. He looked like the stigma victims, and as little as Yazoo liked him, he didn't understand what exactly had brought on that stricken, broken look. As he stared in silence at his brother's tragic look, Mrs. Strife reached out to the boy again and pulled him close once more, stroking his hair in comfort. Loz didn't hide his face this time, but kept staring accusingly at Yazoo, his eyes burning with anger and sorrow.

"He wants to see you," she soothed, her voice soft and careful. It took Yazoo a moment to realize she was looking at him as she spoke, her gaze level and empty of the hate that ought to have been there. "Both of you. He misses you both, and he risked a lot to help you." Yazoo watched her hand slide down the short hair on the back of his little brother's head, and wondered how it could be possible that she was speaking the truth and telling a lie at the same time. Their eye contact was snapped at the sound of a heavy, hammering knock on the door, and the slight woman stood quickly, eyes snapping to the door. Yazoo found himself reaching for Velvet nightmare, and Loz's little twitch as he tried to touch Dual Hound let him know he wasn't alone. That sound was a clear, if wordless, threat.

"Yazoo," the woman addressed firmly, "Take your brother to the next room over and stay there. No fighting. I'll take care of this." She pushed Loz gently over towards Yazoo, and though the elder was reluctant to leave his fate in anyone else's hands, he swept out of the room, as she had told him to. What made him continue to follow her orders was somewhat beyond him. He knew Loz was following him by the sound of slightly heavy, short breaths behind him, and waited for the boy to stumble unhappily past him before closing the door to the room almost all the way, leaving a crack open and glancing over to his furious little brother.

Loz was giving him that disbelieving stricken look again, and Yazoo found himself swallowing at the expression before pressing a finger to his lips to remind Loz to stay quiet before settling by the door, straining his ears to hear what was going on in the front room. He was less than surprised when Loz's curiosity won over fury and the younger remnant ended up crouched on the other side of the door, holding back his sniffles to hear more clearly. The click of the door opening was almost drowned out by the foghorn voice of whoever was outside.

"Lillian, what's this I hear about you threatening Mr. Gruber?" the foghorn was demanding loudly. The quieter voice of Mrs. Strife was harder to hear, but she spoke quite clearly to the man. In fact, if Yazoo was reading the sound of her voice right, she was speaking to him with a fair amount of condescension. Despite himself, he liked her more for it. He didn't like the sound of captian foghorn one bit.

"You know, Mr. Mayor, where I come from we usually say hello before making accusations about one another." Her voice was calm and steady, and Yazoo couldn't help but smile a little, though he shushed Loz's soft giggle with a finger to his lips. Loz put his hand over his mouth, but was still snickering behind it. 'Mayor' Foghorn stumbled on his words for a moment, and Yazoo's smile broadened. She'd caught him completely off guard. He'd obviously been preparing a speech to make, and she hadn't let him get away with it. She rose a couple ranks in his mind.

"Yes, well, none the less... good morning." He covered, far too late to save any face. Mrs. Strife replied in kind, with a pleasant note to her voice.

"Good morning to you. Now then, what's this I hear about Mr. Gruber?" She prompted, probably, Yazoo guessed, because she didn't want him to stick around any longer than she he had to to get to his point. He shuddered at the thought of his point, and ignored the strange look Loz gave him for it. He did not want to hear this conversation particularly, because any reminder of that cliff side was too close to home, but it was better than moving away from the door and letting his mind wonder what they might be saying.

"Yes, uhh... Yes. Mr. Gruber came to speak to me today. I suppose you heard about his son."

"Why no, I haven't." Mrs. Strife said calmly, with a clear note of disinterest. "What about him? Has he finally found a girl?" The mayor hemmed and hawed, and Loz had to re-clamp the hand over his mouth to stop from laughing aloud at him. His eyes were glowing with humor, though.

"No, no I'm afraid it's nothing so good as that. You see, he was attacked yesterday by one of those damned remnants of S-S-"

"Sephiroth," Mrs. Strife supplied calmly. "Goodness, I can't imagine what they saw in him. What in Gaia's name happened next?" The disinterest in her voice was palpable. Yazoo's heart was in his throat anyway.

"Well the damned thing threw him off the cliff at the edge of town!" The mayor cried. "He's a mess of bruises today, and his father says he was about to put the thing that did it down when you showed up with a shotgun!" Yazoo found himself surprisingly unaffected by the altered version of the tale, except for the puzzled quirk that had settled on his lips. Who in their right mind would believe a story like that was beyond him. Until he saw the startled wide-eyed look Loz was giving him. Then he rolled his eyes and shook his head at his younger brother.

"Really now?" she said calmly. "Well, that's quite different from what I remember about my day yesterday, but you know us Strifes. Unreliable memory and all that." Loz's bright grin was instantly revived. The tears had dried on his cheeks, and Yazoo was slightly startled to realize that distraction seemed to have done for him what direct orders never had. Loz had stopped crying without anything like a fight. Fascinating...

'Worthless' said Sephiroth in his head.

Shut up, he replied to himself. This is interesting. The mayor was flustered again, and blubbering about how he didn't not believe her, but he had to look into all the possibilities, and that Gruber had some convincing evidence, etcetera etcetera.

"This guy's an idiot," Loz whispered gleefully into the dark room.

"Hush," said Yazoo. He noticed the laugh in his voice, but tried to pretend he hadn't. No point in damaging his reputation.

"Lillian," The man finally said, getting around to his point, "I understand if you wanted to be the one to get rid of them, but I need to know that you aren't hiding those unnatural things somewhere in my town." Neither Yazoo nor Loz bothered flinching. This man's opinion meant less than dirt to them. That Strife (or Lillian, apparently) laughed in response to him bolstered them both further against the insult. Or at least Yazoo was willing to bet that was what had lit the fires of pleasure behind Loz's eyes.

"You know, Mr. Mayor, it doesn't seem to matter how often I tell you that not just everyone gets to call me Lillian. Only my close friends have permission to use that name, and I regret to tell you that you are not among that number." The man spluttered again, but this time the formidable little woman didn't let him recover. Yazoo envisioned that, were this a fight, this would be the part where his footing faltered and she finished him off.

"If you want to find those boys, I suggest you do it yourself. I'll have nothing to do with a witch hunt, as you well know. I have no idea why you decided that being a mayor when you were alive makes you the goddess now, but I'm not interested in your kindly deeds or your worry for 'your town.' Don't come calling again, unless something is actually wrong."

The door slammed, but neither Yazoo nor Loz moved until the sound of spluttering indignation had faded out of their hearing and the door opened to reveal the Strife woman looking at them both with a sad smile. Yazoo looked her over, his mind changing about her once again. There was no hint that she had sold them out, and it would have been strikingly easy for her to do so. Instead she was looking at him with those slightly weary blue eyes, and giving him that rather sad look. Loz attached himself to her skirt instantly.

"We have to go," Yazoo heard himself say slowly, "don't we." Mrs. Strife's smile got a little sadder, and Loz's grip tightened in her skirt. She didn't answer for a long while, and when she did it was with a strange, inexplicable touch of sorrow, that brought Yazoo's gaze on her into focus, showing him the lines on her face, despite the fact that she had died years ago, and the world-weary look in her eyes.

"Let's get you two some things to last you the trip," she said softly. "It's cold out there, and whether you technically need to eat or not, I'm not sending a little boy and a teenager out into the world without enough snacks to power an army." There was a long silence after her words, as Loz curled a little closer to her shirt, sniffling suspiciously, and Yazoo looked her over. The voices inside him screamed distrust, but he was beginning to wonder how much he should trust those. Loz's voice was quavering again when he spoke out of her skirts.

"...Do I have to w-wear stupid clothes like Yaz has, or do you have any leather?" He warbled sadly. Mrs. Strife looked to Yazoo in surprise, and to his own alarm he found himself smiling tentatively at her, meeting the gaze. He had never tried trusting before, and he was startled by how easy it seemed to respond to the words without screaming. After a long moment, Mrs. Strife burst into laughter.

"I'll see what I can do," she laughed, pulling Loz a little closer, into an actual hug that buried his face in her stomach. Yazoo let out a long breath, watching her hold him, and wasn't sure what would happen next, when they left this woman who had, despite her distaste and anger, looked after them when they were at their lowest. He didn't feel so left out and distant this time, with Mrs. Strife's sadly smiling eyes meeting his gaze and holding it without fear.

"Don't worry," she said, tilting her head so that it would seem to Loz like the words were delivered to him. The way she held eye contact with him suggested to Yazoo that the words were actually meant for him. "You'll be fine. After all, you both have a brother to look after you." Despite the fact that Yazoo didn't like Loz in the slightest, at that moment, with the buzz of being protected still humming behind his eyeballs, the troubled, hurting, damaged remnant actually believed her.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Yazoo had been set to work the moment Mrs. Strife had her legs back under her own control and out of Loz's grasp. She'd gone to the cabinet, taken out a pair of bags, and handed one to each brother. Loz had been sent to work on fitting as many medical supplies as he could into one while Yazoo took care of packing away food for their journey. Apparently Mrs. Strife thought they'd be headed to Wutai, with the amount of provisions she had set them to packing. Yazoo could hear Loz humming to himself a couple rooms over. His hearing hadn't improved, but Loz was not attempting to avoid being overheard. He also appeared to be completely missing the idea of tune. However, it was certainly better than the soft grumbling that had been coming from him non-stop in reaction to being badgered by Mrs. Strife into changing clothes. If Yazoo looked odd in everyday clothing, Loz looked almost right in it. The grumbling had been good natured from the start, but it had been slightly more obnoxious that the new tuneless droning was. As a matter of fact, Yazoo found the humming quite unbearable. It was just that he was ignoring how obnoxious it was in leu of contemplating their situation and attempting to talk his left hand into helping him with his chore.

"You're quick," a brisk and crisp voice broke through his personal silence. He didn't bother jumping and just glanced over at Mrs. Strife.

"I inherited something of a talent for organization," he replied emptily. 

The woman hummed softly and walked over, watching his hands carefully settling the last items into the duffel bag. As he was zipping the bag up, a rustle of fabric from her drew his attention, and he looked up in time to watch her lay a bundle of leather over the bag and his hands without touching him. She walked out of the room before he could ask, and he slowly unwound the tough black leather, and held back a soft gasp. It was his jacket and pants. Though the shirt he had worn underneath it had been replaced, the familiar feel of the supple leather was unmistakable. He ran a hand down the back of his uniform and found it seamlessly mended, as though it had never been cut and torn to pieces. He fought the urge to strip where he stood, and waited for the exclamation of joy from the other room. If his outfit had been repaired it only made sense that Loz's much smaller one had as well.

His hand lingered on the leather. Even if she had been forced into taking him and Loz in, and Yazoo had no illusions about why the mother of his most ferocious enemy would be interested in helping them, there had been no reason for her to fix their leathers. He heard Loz shriek with glee down the hall, his humming thankfully interrupted, and Mrs. Strife's soft answering laugh warmed him a little. He laid the clothes that were as much a part of him as his hair or skin down carefully on the table, pleased that even his previously immobile arm was beginning to cooperate. It had, at least, been somewhat useful in holding the bag open. The leather suit shone under the kitchen lights, and he felt heat behind his eyes at the sight of it. This was his, like nothing else was. This piece of clothing, which he had created the moment he was born, was so much a part of him that before coming to this place he had never even considered changing clothes.

Now all he wanted was to discard the poorly-fiting borrowed clothes and re-learn the feel of tight leather guarding his features. He shrugged to himself, forcing the impulse away in order to go check on Mrs. Strife and his little brother, finding them in the bathroom with Mrs. Strife helping Loz get the too-big borrowed shirt off. It was a strange visual, with the spiked bundle of blonde hair next to pale silver, and tanned, healthy skin next to Loz's whiteness, which was as healthy in appearance as any of Sephiroth's clones got, and still managed to look corpse-like in comparison. Yazoo didn't allow himself a shiver, and instead leaned on the door frame to watch, silently. Loz, of course, was far from silent. He always was.

"It's gunna be so good to put it on again! You are the best mom ever! How did you fix it? I didn't think you could fix leather! Yazoo, did you get yours back too? I hope so because you look really weird in those clothes." Yazoo rolled his eyes at the ever-verbose boy.

"Yes," he said blankly, though he knew his eyes would betray his pleasure. Loz pumped his working fist, and was instantly hushed my Mrs. Strife.

"Loz, please hold still, I'm trying to get a look at your arm," the woman said with surprising patience. The little hellion obediently stopped wiggling, but he certainly didn't shut up. He never did, and if Yazoo was honest with himself, he liked that about his little brother. It gave him something to focus on if his thoughts got too tangled up. Fortunately, he was excellent at lying to himself, and hoped to never have to confront that truth. It was much easier to pretend Loz was insufferable at all times.

"Think it'll work again soon? Oh! Hey, you have a shotgun, can we get weapons? Are our weapons here? Can I find Dual Hound? I miss him..."

"Liiiitlle less talking, Loz," the woman said with a stern edge. Yazoo smirked when Loz slouched and fell silent. If only it was always that easy to shut him up, things would go much easier for him. "This is fixing up pretty well, actually. You really are resilient, huh." Yazoo's eyes narrowed a little and he turned so both of them were in his blind spot.

"It's what we were designed for," he said blandly to the wall. The Strife woman huffed, and Yazoo's urge to kill rose briefly at the sharp dismissal of his words.

"Why do you have to try and make everything worse?" Loz whined behind him. "Every time something good happens or someone's nice, you have to be a jerk about it!"

"Loz," warned Mrs. Strife softly. Yazoo didn't dein to answer, but his mind whirred at the words. Surely that was a foundless accusation on his brother's part. He was pragmatic, and realistic. If anything actually nice ever happened to him or his brothers, he was certain he would acknowledge it. It was simply that everything had two sides to it, and Loz was blind to the darker motivations of what he saw as 'nice things.' He huffed softly and let his gaze zone out, though his other senses remained on high alert.

"How come you're fussing at me?" Loz whined, apparently to the woman, though Yazoo wasn't looking. He could almost hear the quelling look Mrs. Strife gave his brother.

"That's enough. The sooner you two get moving the safer you'll be," she said, and Yazoo glanced back at her coolly. He wrinkled his nose a little.

"How do we know you're not sending us straight into a trap?" he questioned, though even he didn't believe that was what she was doing. He just didn't know what she was planning, and it made him suspicious.

"Yazoo!" exclaimed Loz in protest, stepping forward aggressively. Mrs. Strife caught him quickly and shot Yazoo a glare.

"I understand your paranoia," she said with a sharp edge to her voice, "but I don't take kindly to insinuations like that." Yazoo scoffed at her.

"You expect me to believe you're getting yourself in trouble with those men for our sake?" he snapped, shifting his stance so he wasn't leaning against the doorway so much as blocking it, feeling the glow rise in his eyes even as he saw the ice harden in hers. "For all we know you planned this with them ahead of time to get us to lower our guard, so that you all could take us out more easily." The laugh that rang through the bathroom was far from kind, as was the look on Mrs. Strife's face when she stood up abruptly. Yazoo found himself taking a step back before he could second guess the motion.

"It amazes me that you seem to think you wouldn't have been easy to kill on that cliff, Yazoo. You were looking pretty done for to me! How can you think such a thing of me?" By the time he realized he was still backing away from her anger, he was pressing against the wall, and his shoulder was twinging at the contact. He swallowed heavily, fighting back fear.

"Y-you have nothing to gain from this," he snapped back, "and they're going to come and hurt you. Why wouldn't you give us over? You've got nothing invested in us!" The woman's approach halted, and she stared at Yazoo for a moment before bursting out laughing, this time honestly, but without the same derisive note that had set Yazoo's teeth on edge last time. He still didn't like it.

"You don't honestly think they're going to hurt me?" she laughed, her eyes crinkled with amusement. Yazoo's frown deepened, and he felt his brows twist slowly in confusion. Mrs. Strife only seemed to find amusement in the expression and shook her head slowly, still chuckling.

"Think of it this way," she finally said, mirth still echoing in her firm voice, "eventually my son is going to die. Do you really think any of those men and women out there are fool enough to mess with Cloud Strife's mother? I can honestly say, Yazoo, that since my son killed Sephiroth the first time, you are the first person to even consider going after me." Yazoo was silent, his eyes wide, but he understood. They were threatened. She had something held over the heads of everyone in the life stream that could not be argued with. With a son who was the hero of the planet... she was like the opposite of Loz and Yazoo, who would have been enemies of humanity for their mere relation to Sephiroth even had they not gone against Gaia and tried to destroy her. He didn't get why she was being kind to them, but he understood threats. They were a part of his experience. Mother had threatened him, and he had listened. Mrs. Strife probably hadn't even had to say anything out loud for those other people to know that it was dangerous to bother her.

"Of course," she said sweetly, "even if someone did try to go after me, thinking Cloud wouldn't be here in time to stop them, they'd be discounting Zack, Angeal and Aerith, who certainly aren't to be taken lightly." Loz perked up and jumped back into the conversation, even as Yazoo flinched away, leaning against the wall and letting his gaze slide away from the woman again.

"You know Zack too? And Aerith? Are they mad at us?" Loz was asking, his voice high and energetic. At least he had been more mellow when he was older. His hyperactivity was mind-numbing.

"No, honey, they're not mad," the woman was saying in that strangely sweet tone that Yazoo couldn't help but think of as a lie. She didn't like either of them, and he knew it. That she was trustworthy didn't change that. He wasn't even certain she was trustworthy, but he was rarely certain of anything anymore. His chest ached. He missed Kadaj. His arm was healing but the rest of him was not. Aside from that knowledge, though, he was empty.

"Now! Enough chitchat! You two get changed into your leathers and meet me back in the living room and I'll get you started off, alright?"

"Which one is the living room?" Loz asked even as Yazoo pushed off the wall to sweep back into the kitchen, carefully retrieving his leather suit.

"The one you woke up in, Loz. Now run off and get changed."

"Okay, but how come you called me honey before? You aren't gunna eat me, are you?" There was a moment of silence, and Yazoo found himself smiling into it, and wondered briefly if Mrs. Strife hadn't noticed that she'd called him the affectionate nickname. It made sense that, of the two of them, Loz would appeal to her. He remembered reading a book about mothers, and how once they had a child, all children would be precious to them. Then, with a shudder, he remembered that he had never read a book, and carefully shoved himself back into his own mindset. He didn't mind being unhappy as long as he was himself, but Sephiroth's memories seemed more insistent and pervasive than they ever had before, and he wasn't sure how much of it was that he hadn't noticed it before, and how much of it was how little of him was left after those spirits had gotten finished trying to destroy him.

He shook off the thoughts and retreated to a small side-room in the house to change, closing the door behind him and stripping stiffly. The bruises hadn't faded, but the dim light made them stand out less starkly against his normal death-pale skin. He could still feel the impact that made those bruises. Still feel the hands holding him to the ground, and hear the jeers and whispers, feel their spit on his face and their boots and fists struggling for contact with him, fighting each other for the right of killing him next. Remembered the feel of his legs being spread, too far, his pants being pulled down, and being torn.

He jerked back to reality and found himself sitting on limply on the floor, like a doll with cut strings, his leather clothes still held tightly to his chest, and could have slapped himself. He didn't have time for such foolish emotional displays, and he certainly couldn't allow himself to let his guard down every time he was reminded of being wounded.

Sephiroth had been like this after the wutaian war, he remembered dimly, then he pushed the memories away, because they were of Genesis and Angeal, and he didn't want to see them—didn't want to be reminded that all he had to look forward to was betrayal and hurt at the hands of anyone who tried to help him, or in whom he trusted. It was only a matter of time before Mrs. Strife turned on them. As long as they could get away before she had a chance to, maybe they could make it at least a little closer to Kadaj. Yazoo doubted he'd ever see his beloved tenshi again, but the closer he was to Kadaj when his existence was destroyed, the better it would all be. He was certain, at least, of that.

He picked himself up off the floor painstakingly, his breath hitching in his chest and his eyes burning. His blind side was damp with tears, and he wiped his bare hand frustratingly across the skin there, feeling the solid bone of his cheek under his fingers. He could remember what it felt like to have it crushed in, choking his breath, filling his every sense with the smell and taste and feel of blood, the horrible feeling of the pressure on his eye increasing until it burst like a grape, blinding him as the other side of his face was ground into the dust. The foot wouldn't have stopped. Next his brain would have been crushed by the boot, then his whole head stomped flat. His stomach lurched dangerously, and this time he couldn't help but stumble over to the nearest bathroom and retch pathetically. Someone knocked on the door after a while, but Yazoo ignored them, forcing what little was inside him out, wishing he could just destroy himself and be done with it. When he was finally finished, he simply half-lay on the cold toilet, letting its chill cool his overheated skin. For a while, all was silent, then a voice sounded softly on the other side.

"Your brother is worried you're sick again," said Mrs. Strife's voice softly, "and I've made us some tea. Don't forget to get dressed before you come out, Yazoo." He didn't have the energy to feel that same revultion at the use of his name in her voice. It wasn't so bad, he realized suddenly, his brain forced into putting it in perspective. In fact, it was downright decent of her. He wasn't 'boy,' as Sephiroth had been to Hojo—he could see the scientist's horrible eyes in Sephiroth's memory, staring down from behind thick glasses, with a cruel, condescending gleam—he wasn't 'that thing' like the mayor had called him, he wasn't 'monster' or 'child' or 'it' or any impersonal pronoun. He was Yazoo. He swallowed, and picked his leathers up from where he had dropped them upon entering the room.

He was able to pull his shirt on better than he had been able to the day before. His shoulder almost cooperated with him. Very nearly at least. He could feel the muscles and tendons trying to shape up and heal. In return, he was more careful with the limb, aware that it required rest to fix itself. Frustrating though it was, he would give it time. He needed both his arms for when the next fight inevitably arose.

He rinsed his mouth out before he left the room, spitting into the sink until the taste of bile was bearable, then walked numbly into the living room. He wasn't sure what to expect when he walked into the room, feeling like a late guest to some haughty party, but it wasn't what he found.

He hadn't expected Loz to be sitting, morose, in an armchair, holding a scone lightly in his working hand without so much as looking at it, much less eating it, with an untouched cup of tea before him. He hadn't expected the cloud of sorrow and worry to vanish instantly when he entered the room either. Had he still been caught up in his mind he would have missed the quicksilver change in expression from misery to joy. He stared at his brother, stunned, and after a moment of eye contact, Loz seemed to remember that he was supposed to hate Yazoo, and made a grumpy noise, huffing and looking away from him, taking a huge bite of scone as he did so. Only even as he chewed, distinctly not looking at Yazoo, he kept glancing over, as though to make sure his big brother was still there. Yazoo was certainly still there. He had no idea what to make of the emotions scrawled across his brother's features. They made no sense with their relationship, and were out of place in the situation as well. It was only after Loz had glanced worriedly to him a third time that he turned his gaze to the blonde woman perched on the sofa, her lips pressed together not in distaste, but in an attempt to hide her amusement.

"The tea on the other side is yours," she proclaimed sweetly, and Yazoo swiveled his head smoothly to see the gently steaming tea waiting for him with a pair of scones that matched little Loz's. He clicked his tongue mentally at the fond usage of the nickname, but he wasn't really upset. He didn't suppose he really could be, not with the pale, frightened look that the boy had so recently fixed him with. He sat without thought, across from Mrs. Strife with Loz in his armchair between them, dwarfed by the piece of furniture and still attempting to appear aloof. With a twinge of frustration at his own mind, Yazoo had to confess that when Loz aimed for 'aloof' he hit 'adorable.'

"There now," said Mrs. Strife, but it wasn't in her usual stern and uncompromising voice It was almost... comfortingly toned, with a warmth and familiarity Yazoo had never heard from anyone. He and Kadaj had been closer to each other than anyone else, or so Yazoo liked to think, but Kadaj had never been warm to him. That was Yazoo's place in their relationship's dynamic.

"I'm sorry you're not feeling well, Yazoo, and I really am sorry to do this to you both." Yazoo nodded automatically, eying his scones with brief suspicion before giving up and taking one, cautiously, in his bare hand. He didn't know why he hadn't bothered to cover his fingers again, but it had seemed... useless. An exercise in futility to try and protect what had already been tainted. It didn't escape his notice that pleasure raced briefly across Mrs. Strife's faint smile as he took a small bite, letting the flavor of the thing wipe away the traces of sickness. It was unlike things he personally had tasted before, though vicariously he had sampled the delicacies of the continents through Sephiroth's memories. As it was, he let himself briefly look down to the small thing with a faint pleasure himself. There was no harm, after all, in taking pleasure from necessities. Even if eating was not technically a necessity in this place., politeness to the Strife woman was, and he wasn't about to change that.

"Mama," Loz addressed quietly, and Yazoo bit back a reprimand at the way he spoke the word with awed affection. But really, who was he to dictate whether Loz chose one false mother over another? "Did we do something wrong?"

"Yes," Mrs. Strife said easily, and something in Yazoo eased at the lack of a lie, "but not while you've been with me, Loz. I'm not sending out out there because you did something wrong. That said, don't talk with your mouth full." Loz's lip quivered, but he didn't cry, and swallowed the mouthful of bread obediently. At any other time, Yazoo would have been stunned by it. Now he was simply silent.

"Why are you?" the boy asked for confusion, obviously desperate for approval or a reason, desperate not to be abandoned without causse by yet another mother. Mrs. Strife sighed softly.

"Because I'm not where you need to be," she answered. Yazoo wasn't sure why his voice bubbled up through a tormented throat, or why he said what he did, but something screamed in him that he had to try.

"You can't keep Loz with you?" he asked, and it wasn't in the vindictive angry tone it ought to have been. It was a plea. "If he's with me, he'll only get hurt again." he found himself explaining, even as he tried to backpedal, and force himself to take back the words, "and he loves you." He didn't even flinch as he said it. It was true, he realized, which was why his lips had abandoned the reason of silence. He could have simply left Loz behind, but he no longer trusted that to be effective. The boy was as quick as he was, so long as he wasn't attacked by more monsters. Silence reigned in the room for a long while, and Yazoo didn't dare lift his eyes from the surface of his tea to look at either of the other two.

"Not because he's a pain?" Mrs. Strife's voice suddenly asked sharply. "You are sick, aren't you. Normally you would have covered that much better. With lots of insults, so that he'd be more willing to stay. Isn't that right, Yazoo?" He couldn't deny it. If he'd been thinking... but his mind was so blank. He had nothing to censor him. It was all at work holding Sephiroth at bay. He didn't reply.

"I don' wanna stay," Loz snapped suddenly into the following silence. Yazoo jerked his head up to look at him then, and found his little brother glaring daggers at him.

"I'm coming with you," the boy said, his voice uncommonly grim and serious. Yazoo stared into those angry green eyes and couldn't hold back a shiver. They were aggressive, and they were not holding back on him. "She isn't gunna fall in every ditch and get beat up by every damn thing that comes along." Yazoo didn't break eye contact, and he could feel his blind eye burning under Loz's gaze. The mako glow in the boy's eyes was uncanny.

"She's safe, and protected, and she can see where she's going," Loz asserted avidly, "she can even cook for herself. You, on the other hand, can't see three feet in front of you and are hopeless at making friends. I'm coming with you, so stop trying to wipe me off on whoever's nearest like you got chocobo poo on your hand." Silence fell again, and then Yazoo felt something almost unnatural cross his face. His mouth twitched, briefly, then curved upwards. His cheeks felt odd, dimpled upwards by a smile, and the corner of his blind eye stung as it crinkled to accommodate the expression, but Loz's reaction was almost worth his own horror and discomfort at the expression flitting briefly across him. His mouth dropped open, in an 'oh' of surprise, and the last bit of a scone fell into his lap from a loose grip, unhindered in its fall.

"Well," said Mrs. Strife gently, "that's much better than me just saying no. Now finish up, you two, because if you don't head out soon you'll have to run, and I know that wouldn't be terribly pleasant for you. Not with how far you might end up going."

"H-How big is the life stream?" Loz said, trying to recover from the shock of Yazoo's expressiveness. Yazoo was attempting to do the same, with much less success. If Sephiroth's memory didn't back off, he risked his calm mask dropping entirely, and he didn't know if he could withstand another person knowing exactly how filthy he was.

"It doesn't end, Loz," said Mrs. Strife gently. "You can get back to places you've been before, and sometimes you can ask it to find people and places for you, if you're lost, but it's endless." She stood up slowly, and looked at them both for a long moment, and Yazoo felt the assessing weight of her gaze. "And I'm very sorry that I have to put you out there alone. Drink you're tea, both of you. it's good for you."

They drank their tea, and Loz even managed not to talk for a little while, his mouth busy with the hot liquid and his eyes holding a strange, adult distance that would have looked just as out of place on his larger form. Yazoo didn't allow himself to think. Or more, he didn't allow himself to think of anything important. Unfortunately, the room was filled with reminders of the other man in his head. Every image of blonde spiky hair sent a shiver through him, but it was better than thinking about anything else, so he studied them. As he looked between them, he slowly realized that they were not images of the man he had fought against. If it weren't for the distinctive hair, it could have been a different child completely. Unlike Loz's smaller form, which was still strong and filled-out, though surprisingly delicate when he was ill, Cloud Strife was a scrawny child. For some reason that bothered Yazoo a great deal. It didn't seem fair to have images of a bruised and muddy boy triumphantly holding up a small chocobo for the camera's inspection, his face the very image of chagrined pride. He shouldn't have ever worn braces, or carried a bookbag to school, or done any number of the normal, average things displayed on the wall. It was just... wrong, somehow.

There were very few images of the man he had grown into, Yazoo noticed suddenly. No heroic, picturesque photo of him defeating Sephiroth, or standing alone on the cliff side with the buster sword. Only one image he could see held Strife and his ragtag crew of heroes, obviously after the deaths of himself and His brothers, because they were laughing together near a pool of water in the church, and Cloud's stigma was gone. He had one hand on the heads of each of the children Yazoo and Loz had stolen from him. His gaze fixed on that picture and couldn't move. Cloud—it felt wrong to think of him as 'Cloud,' as though they knew each other, but it was better than anything else he could think of—Cloud was smiling, so gently it looked like a stiff breeze might blow the expression away. It made him look younger, as Sephiroth had first seen him, an unsure trooper standing by Zack Fair with a strange solemnity about him, except when the other soldier was near. He heard a little gasp from his brother and realized his gaze had been noticed and copied.

"You have a picture of Marlene and nii-san!" Loz cried happily, vaulting over the back of his armchair after setting his tea down, his injured arm still held against his chest. He sounded bizarrely excited by that, and stopped only a few respectful feet from the picture, a faint smile working its way onto his face. "That's after we died, right? Good. I'm glad she made it out safe." Mrs. Strife laughed softly.

"You're a sweet boy, Loz," she said placidly, "and another time I'd show you every picture I have of Marlene," her gaze traveled slowly to the window, which told Yazoo nothing, because he couldn't see out there, but regret traced over her face. "It's getting late, so I'm afraid it's time to go. Loz, would you go fetch the bags?"

Loz's affirmative reply was all but lost behind a final much of scone—one of Yazoo's, the elder noticed with a resigned sigh—and he jogged of the room at a lazy trot, his eyes glancing back at the picture just once. Mrs. Strife stood, and gestured to Yazoo that he should follow, so he did. He wondered if there was a limit to the odd obedience. She led him to the front door, and opened it slowly, glancing both ways before relaxing and leaning slightly against the doorway. Yazoo stepped up as near to her as he dared, and looked out past her. The flower garden stretched down along a short path before her house, but past that was nothing.. Yazoo shuddered.

"Why can I see your garden?" he asked softly. The question had bothered him from the first moment he laid eyes on the flowers, but this might be his last chance to ask.

"It's part of me," she said sweetly. "It's kind of an extension of myself, like the house. I keep them both, and they stay strong and healthy as long as I do. The garden's a little strange. I was a pathetic gardener when I was alive, but Aerith tells me the flowers aren't normal here. Well, nothing is particularly normal here at all, but these ones in particular. She says they represent the things I care about and love. The house is a necessity, but apparently, the garden is my soul's way of saying it has style." Yazoo paused for a moment, decided that made no sense, and let it go.

"Now it's my turn to ask a question," she said sweetly, and he had hummed approval before he even thought to be worried by the statement. "Why can you see me?"

Yazoo froze, and his eyes narrowed, because the truth was he hadn't thought about it. Not since the first moment he had done so. He opened his mouth to say it was because Cloud was his nii-san, but he knew that wasn't right. Even if he did think of Cloud that way, and he only ever had to humor Kadaj, then it still wouldn't connect him to Mrs. Strife. She carried none of Jenova's taint within her. He shook his head slowly.

"I don't know."

"Then let me offer a guess," she said, and there was a smile in her voice that implied that she had known he didn't know, and was going to enjoy informing him. "I think it's because you wanted to. That you see the things that interest you, those that you care about, and nothing more." Yazoo thought about it, and shook his head as a dim curse from the house behind them signaled that Loz had managed to abuse his poor arm once more.

"I couldn't see the people who attacked me," he argued flatly, "or the men on the cliff. They mattered."

"No," Mrs. Strife argued, "they didn't. You didn't care why they were attacking, or what motivation they might have had, or who they were, and I certainly don't blame you for that, but as long as you regard the world as 'everyone else' and 'you,' I think you'll have a hard time seeing anyone."

"So... you think you're interesting to me." Yazoo couldn't help but sneer as he contemplated the statement. Mrs. Strife's smile, strangely, didn't shift to a scowl or grow bitter. Her eyes narrowed just a little, like they were sparring.

"I don't have to think to know I'm more interesting than Gruber," she countered with a startling amount of cheer for her usually calm affect. Yazoo didn't even try to argue. He just changed the subject instead. He certainly didn't want to have a heart to heart with the landscape to try and convince it he was interested. At least, not in front of Mrs. Strife.

"How did you fix our leathers?" he asked blithely, watching with cool eyes as a breeze swept the delicate flowers into a little dance. Panting softly, Loz staggered up behind them, weighed down by the heavy bag of food, though he seemed to be doing fine with the medical supplies. He didn't weigh in on the conversation yet, and Yazoo found himself almost grateful for that. He honestly was curious, because even though he'd created the damn uniform in the first place, he didn't know how to fix it.

"The same way I grew the flowers," she said enigmatically. "Now, on with those packs, and better pick it up before nightfall." Yazoo made a mental note that apparently yes, night did fall in the life stream.

"Hey, Mama Strife?" Loz chirped softly, "how come the life stream is so mean? I thought it was, y'know, where people went to rejoin the planet." Mrs. Strife's face grew darker and she heaved a sigh.

"The short version is that the planet's too hurt to even think about assimilating anyone, so it's kind of... storing us here until it manages to fix itself. Unfortunately, it's been trying to fix itself for a good many years now with very little success, so things in this realm have gotten more and more confused and far too human." She glanced to the sky, and when Yazoo followed the glance, he saw nothing, and wasn't surprised. Mrs. Strife sighed.

"I'm sorry," she said sweetly, "that's about all I can tell you. Ask around as you go, if you find anyone worth asking. Now come here and have a hug." Loz didn't have to be told twice, foisting the bag he was holding onto Yazoo in order to fling himself into the woman's arms with abandon. She chuckled gently and caught him, pulling him close for a moment. They stood there, pressed together, for what Yazoo almost felt like was too long, then a suspiciously sniffling Loz was lowered back to the ground and Yazoo pressed against the opposite side of the door from Mrs. Strife.

"You're not going to hug me, are you?" he asked, voice full of worry and uneasiness. She shook her head slowly, but there was something sad in her look.

"Of course not. I know you don't like being touched. Now then, once the two of you leave the path I won't be able to help. At least, not for a while, so look after each other. Take a left once you get to the end. Loz, make sure your brother doesn't fall into any holes, but if he walks into a tree, it's his own fault. And whatever you do, stay clear of the mansion. Got it?"

"No holes for Yazoo, no mansion for us. Got it!" Loz replied happily, with a snappy salute to the woman. She chuckled warmly, then carefully took the medical backpack back from Yazoo, without touching skin in the slightest, and held it while Loz wiggled his way under the straps. Yazoo was either more mobile or more coordinated, but it didn't take him as long to get the duffel bag of 'provisions' over one shoulder.

"Don't fall off any more cliffs," Mrs. Strife warned him, and between the two of them, it was as good as forgiveness.

"I'll try to steer clear," Yazoo answered, his voice more musical than when he first arrived at her doorstep. He was the one to take the first step away from the little sanctuary, but Loz followed close behind him, apparently walking backwards to wave farewell to Mrs. Strife.

Yazoo never looked back once, but it wasn't out of malice. He was looking at the flowers in a strange combination of wonder and horror, because right there, in the middle of what she had described as an extension of herself, in the shadow of a strong, proud sunflower, two little flowers were just beginning to blossom. Yazoo's mind had just the time to supply 'moon flowers,' before he stepped off the path to her house and out into whatever lay beyond, and the flowers vanished from his view as though they had never existed. Loz's sniffling redoubled, and with a heavy sigh, Yazoo turned left and started walking, hoping that Loz wasn't too caught up in being unhappy to warn him about any unpleasant surprises. It was back to the two of them, and he wasn't nearly as relieved as he had thought he would be.

"I'll miss mama," Loz whispered after a long moment of silence between the two boys as they hit what appeared to be the edge of whatever passed for Nibelheim in the life stream and started climbing the mountainside again. Yazoo hummed, and even he wasn't sure if it was in agreement or not. He glanced back when he felt eyes on him, and caught Loz's gaze. The boy was looking at him as though he were trying to see through some bizarre illusion cast on them both.

"Did you," he muttered before trailing off.

"Spit it out," Yazoo grumbled.

"Tree ahead," Loz informed him gamely, giving Yazoo just enough time to put out a hand and avoid the obstacle. "Did you really carry me?"

Yazoo thought long and hard over the answer, because if it wasn't the perfect reply, it wasn't just Loz who might get the wrong idea. If he answered wrong, the tentative trust that had built between them might be shattered, and the detour by the woman's house worthless. So he paused in his tracks and thought, then turned slowly to Loz.

"You're heavy," he proclaimed, and pretended to ignore the fact that Loz lit up with joy.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

"You like me!" Loz crowed gleefully to the world in general. Technically, he was proclaiming it to Yazoo, as there wasn't anything else nearby to hear, but the elder of the brothers was more likely to tolerate the exclamation if it wasn't terribly well aimed. The soft growl that answered from Yazoo pulled a soft snicker from the smaller clone, and he skipped forward a little on the uneven ground to pull even with the blank-faced man. He was on his blind side, and Yazoo's pale eye glimmered through a fall of white-silver hair, glinting brighting in the sunlight. Loz couldn't help but be in an excellent mood. "You can't deny it. You carried me. For a distance." Yazoo's blind eye flickered briefly.

"I do not 'like' you," he insisted firmly, but Loz could tell it was a lie. It wasn't even a good lie. "It was simply a necessity There is nothing more to it."

"Yes there is," Loz replied cheerfully as he managed to trip on a rock, to preoccupied bouncing beside his taller brother to bother with such trivial things as terrain. "It's cause you like me! Branch." Yazoo lifted a hand and snapped the branch off the moment he touched it, shooting Loz a significant look as he did so, as though to imply he wished it was his little brother. Loz just smirked back until his brother walked into the next branch, then laughed gaily as he jerked and spluttered briefly. Then the coldness revived in his eyes and Loz found himself pinned with that look of condescending distaste, and the cheer faded somewhat.

"Sorry," he muttered. "If you weren't mean, I'd have warned you." Yazoo's eyes narrowed.

"If you weren't being annoying, I would have noticed," he scoffed evenly, not a trace of anger in his voice. It was much worse than anger. He sounded like Loz wasn't worth anger. Loz briefly wondered if he could get Yazoo to walk into a tree in revenge, then just settled for hanging his head and sniffling. It was hard to remember that he wasn't supposed to be angry at Yazoo all the time. It was a reflex. He trusted Mama Strife, in that if she said Yazoo loved him, Yazoo loved him, but surely it wouldn't hurt the meanie to show it once in a while. He clenched his teeth and stalked away.

He felt kind of like an idiot wearing the makeshift sling that held his arm against his chest, but it made it hurt less, and reminded him he wasn't supposed to use the arm. The bag on his shoulders was an unfamiliar and uncomfortable weight, and he was certain he wasn't carrying it as easily as Yazoo appeared to shoulder his own added burden. Yazoo had an obnoxious habit of being cool while he was doing anything, and it turned out shouldering a duffel bag was no different. He made an art of indifference. Fortunately, with his ability to see the landscape, Loz still had an advantage, and could stay ahead of Yazoo while he tried to regain his temper, certain that Mama Strife would object to him strangling his older brother with his own hair.

He stroked a hand down the front of his leather top, reveling in the feel of the built-in ridges under his fingers, and the way it hugged his frame. He found the touch of it immensely comforting, though he would have gladly kept the borrowed clothes on if it meant staying with Mama. Not that he would have been able to anyway. Yazoo obviously couldn't have stayed with her, because his answer to anything strange was to kill it, and Mama Strife was most definitely strange. Much though he disliked it, Loz knew very well that Yazoo needed him, whether he would admit it or not, and he had spoken without thought, as usual, in telling him so. It never occurred to him that he was basically giving Yazoo a weapon to use against him, and now that he thought about it, he was surprised Yazoo hadn't yet. Of course, he also knew that Yazoo had carried him, so they both kind of had weapons against one another. Loz wondered briefly if this was one of those things that people were supposed to come to silent agreements over, about not using it against each other, then shrugged and glanced over his shoulder at his slightly slower, blind brother. Yazoo was, as usual, staring fixedly at him, but instantly looked away as though with disinterest upon having his gaze returned. Loz snickered softy.

"Better hurry up, Yaz," he sneered, "or I'll have to carry you." Yazoo's gaze returned to him, and Loz thought it might have been his imagination, but for an instant, it looked like his brother had smirked at the comment as his eyes flashed, rather than scowled.

"You couldn't," the elder said smoothly, his gaze once again unwaveringly fixed on Loz. "Remember? You had to get Angeal to." Loz gasped softly in amazement at the words, then scowled viciously and stopped, putting his hands on his hips and glaring down at his brother, who was below him for once only thanks to the steep incline they were both climbing.

"That's not funny!" he snapped fiercely. Yazoo didn't stop to face off with him, and a soft chuckle slid past his parted lips, his eyes flashing again as he fixed Loz with a look. Loz wasn't sure what the look was supposed to mean, but it pissed him off, and he crossed his arms without thought, yelping softly in pain as that put pressure on the monstrous, if no longer infected, cut. Yazoo drew even with him and passed by with a smug look as Loz glared daggers at him, daring him to comment on the move.

"Shut up," he snapped, even though Yazoo hadn't actually said anything. He'd thought it really loudly. He followed the older boy even as he spoke. "You can't cross your arms either."

With an air of supreme superiority, Yazoo crossed his arms and glanced back at Loz out of eyes narrowed with self-satisfaction. Loz snarled at him and cast his gaze to the ground to look for a rock or something to throw at his brother. Right as his gaze landed on a perfectly-sized stick, Yazoo tripped on a sharp rise in the path and slid a couple inches back on the hill, his face darkening in annoyance. Loz abandoned his abusive plan of retaliation and grinned before sauntering past Yazoo as he picked himself up off the ground. As he walked, he made extra sure to shoot the elder boy his best impression of the 'smug meanie' look. He heard Yazoo growl behind him, but the older boy didn't respond. For the first time in a long time, and with considerable relish, Loz mentally added a tally mark to his score, and took one off Yazoo's. Not that he was actually keeping score. If he had been it would have been a depressingly uneven battle. It was just a nice mental image.

He barely noticed when he started humming again. Now that Yazoo was following him silently, his working eye no doubt fixed on his feet as he tried to judge the landscape he couldn't see, Loz was free to look around a little, his curiosity with his brother's motivations put on hold for the moment in deference to the fact that they were in a new place. Loz grew bored easily, but the mountains were interesting. While he was well aware that Nibelheim was high up in the real world, or at least had been before Sephiroth wiped it off the map, the infamous chill of the air was absent in this version of the mountains. The unused path they were climbing was overgrown with newly-sprouted growth and small trees attempting to make a name for themselves. The rest of the trail was dotted with half-rotten leaves, and Loz tilted his head, wondering if the life stream had seasons, and giggling at the idea before falling back into his tuneless hum. A dark spot to one side of them drew his attention and he turned his head with honest curiosity to study the hole in the rock.

"Woah," he muttered, "hey, Yazoo, look! A cave!" Yazoo growled a little behind him, and Loz glanced back to see Yazoo sending him an annoyed look.

"Fascinating," he said dryly.

"You didn't even look," Loz muttered. Yazoo's glare re-doubled, and Loz's eyes widened in realization before he giggled. "Oh. Uh, oops?" he offered through the laugh, trying not to outright guffaw as Yazoo stumbled slightly again. His elder brother only growled again and went back to watching his feet. Once he was safely being ignored again, Loz, glanced once more at the cave before walking on, still snickering to himself and pretending he hadn't actually forgotten Yazoo couldn't see. Before he could ponder whether to add back Yazoo's point on the tally over the lapse in his memory, he forced his attention back to the surrounding world.

His hearing wasn't great, but he could pick up the sounds of bird song around them, and the occasional rustle of something small darting into the bushes. Off the path, where the woods had been allowed to grow wild for years, bushes grew as tall as small trees, and certainly taller than Loz. There were a lot of different kinds, but Loz's favorites were the ones with flowers like little orange spots of fire. It was a weird place, and certainly not what Loz would have expected for what should have been a tense and scary escape, though he wasn't entirely sure who they were escaping. The spots of sunlight that wormed their way through the trees' canopy above them gave the whole world leopard spots, Loz's leather coat included, and made him smile just a little.

He liked the sun and always had, ever since he had climbed out of the Northern Crater's mouth, with an unconscious Turk over each shoulder and his Tenshi before him. The moment he'd seen the light scatter off his beloved brother's silver hair, and warm the tone of his skin he'd adored it. It had been kind of creepy, how they all looked slightly blue and inhuman underneath the crater's perpetual clouds, and it had been cold to boot. The sun's warmth and light drew him as much as any call for reunion, and he had downright basked, right up until Yazoo had shot him that death-glare and jerked his chin, ordering Loz to follow without speaking to him once. Loz couldn't help but frown a little at that memory of that casual order.

Since day one, moment one, Yazoo had looked at him with disdain and dislike, and the fact that he now seemed bearable didn't change the fact that it stung. If there was a reason, Loz still didn't understand it. He had always done with the willowy boy told him to, and had only gotten him in trouble that once when he helped Elena—he flinched and reminded himself he wasn't supposed to know her name—the Turks escape. Yazoo had already hated him at that point anyhow. The warm, fond looks he sent towards Kadaj, even when he wasn't looking, had made Loz's stomach twist in jealousy. He'd imagined, at the time, that Kadaj liked Yazoo better too, but now he wasn't so sure. He stopped humming for a moment to lick his lips as he considered, and smiled again when he tasted traces of dirt, not because it was a pleasant taste, but because it was a familiar one.

He glanced back to Yazoo, found him, indeed, watching where he himself was stepping so intensely that he didn't even notice the fact that he was being checked on, and decided he was safe to ponder for a little while without being teased fiercely for it. There was something bothering him about the way the three of them had always interacted. He wasn't an expert on people or anything, but Elena—the turk, he corrected himself sharply—had said that he was different, with a thoughtful look on her battered face. He lifted his good hand to the side of his face, where she had touched him briefly before he let them both go, and knew that one day the jaw under his hand would be stronger and more masculine, if it was possible to grow up in the life stream and he wasn't stuck as a child forever. He didn't know, exactly, what was different about him, but he was starting to have an inclination. Of the three of them, he was the only one who had wanted to not hurt the Turks, or felt bad for taking people's homes, or for kidnapping the kids. Not as bad as he knew people were supposed to feel for doing horrible things, but bad enough for Yazoo to snap at him and Kadaj to laugh derisively at his tears. Now that he was thinking about it, in fact, he was starting to believe that for being made of the same base material, he and his two brothers were very different people.

He hummed softly to himself again, liking the way the sound rumbled lightly through his throat, and tilting his head as he walked. It was a strange thought, but as he looked back on their short lives, he was starting to wonder if, perhaps, Kadaj hadn't liked either of them too much. Certainly, he had turned to Yazoo when he needed comforting, and hadn't outright been mean to Loz, but when choosing between mother and his two brothers, he always chose mother, and when Yazoo had admitted that the Turks were gone, Kadaj had slapped him really hard. Not to mention that both of them had to do whatever he said. In retrospect, he wondered why he had. It had seemed, at the time, like Kadaj had all the answers, because there was so much of mother in him, but he had still been scared when she screamed, and had still turned to Yazoo for comfort.

Which, really, meant he probably had liked them. He'd even sparred with Loz for fun! Only once, but that once was enough for Loz to adore him forever. His eyes had been so bright, and the smile on his face dazzlingly wide with enjoyment. Loz would have been toast in the fight if Yazoo hadn't decided to even the odds. It was, in retrospect, the only time he remembered being happy, and it had crashed to a halt when mother's call had pulled Kadaj from them once more. Loz froze in his steps as he remembered the moment, and turned slowly to look back at Yazoo.

His brother noticed the lag in his step, and looked up at him with an amused curiosity brightening his uneven gaze, and Loz swallowed. He could read Yazoo better now, he realized, and what he had taken at that moment, as Kadaj turned away from them again, for a look of disgust on his now-older brother's face struck a different chord in him in retrospect. The faint downturn of his lips, and the light in his then-matching eyes—the way his nostrils flared just a little and his eyebrows twitched... Loz looked down at Yazoo in a faint horror as realization struck. Yazoo's eyes narrowed, and he glanced behind him, as though making sure Loz wasn't looking past him.

"...What?" the elder asked rather coldly, after deciding he was, indeed, the object of his younger brother's attention.

"You were sad..." Loz muttered before he could even think to censor himself. "You were so sad..." One of Yazoo's eyebrows inched upwards before he rolled his eyes and straightened from the defensive crouch he'd dropped into, sauntering over. Loz wondered how far they'd been walking as he noticed the limp in Yazoo's gait that hadn't been there the last time he checked.

"You're delirious again," Yazoo drawled as he approached, his posture relaxed once more and a little amused quirk to his lips. Loz wasn't amused. He was downright miserable. He could feel it building in his throat and behind his eyes. He'd thought he was alone in being saddened by what mother did to Kadaj, and the whole time, Yazoo had felt the same way. As Yazoo stepped up right beside him, the smirk fell away to be replaced by a look of what appeared to be confusion as Loz continued to stare at him in amazement and slight horror. All he could see on that passive face was the memory of how it had looked twisted ever so slightly in sadness-the way his eyes had swiveled to look at him, with what, at that point, had been an expression completely beyond his understanding. Now it looked, in the light of retrospect, like pain.

When he didn't answer, Yazoo shrugged and kept walking, his limp not so pronounced that it damaged his progress, and some of the swagger back in his step. Loz watched his unstable walk and felt his heart breaking. He'd been so busy feeling alone, and hating that he wasn't the important one, and all along... If he'd offered Yazoo something then, commiserated with him instead of walking away, how different would it have been? What if everything could have been averted? Maybe if the two of them had worked together, they could even have kept Kadaj safe.

The first tears fell from his eyes without him even noticing. It wasn't his fault, he knew. At least not entirely. If Yazoo wanted help, he should have asked for help, and if he wanted comfort he could have offered Loz some, but the fact that it had been there in him... Loz sobbed softly, watching the sway of his elder brother's hair, and caught the jerk of the taller clone's body as he whipped back around to look at him-saw the way his eyes darted over his form as he checked for injury, and his heart broke a little further. If he was wrong about how Yazoo felt about Kadaj, maybe... maybe Yazoo hadn't hated him until Loz started it. The elder boy's frown would have been comical at another time. There was an air of perplexed frustration that didn't suit the confident man in the least.

"What is it this time?" he asked, but Loz couldn't bring himself to snap back-couldn't even bring himself to reply. He just stood there staring at his brother, and wondering if Yazoo had felt as alone as Loz himself had. Yazoo heaved an exasperated sigh and moved so quickly Loz didn't have time to object, his pale, bare hand pressing lightly against Loz's forehead as he knelt before him on one knee. Loz blinked, and felt his eyes widen. Yazoo's skin was warm to the touch, and smooth as ivory, and so very alive. It was easy to forget, sometimes, Loz was starting to realize, that there was a person underneath the leather coat and cool glances.

"You don't have a fever," Yazoo pronounced, pulling his hand away from Loz's forehead again and tilting his head, eyes narrowing and lips pressing together in a thin line as he observed him. Loz couldn't remember ever seeing Yazoo intentionally so close to him, and had to fight the urge to reach a hand up and explore the smooth contours of his brother's still young and overly-jaded face. Instead, he swallowed, and pulled back a little, watching his elder brother's eyebrows raise.

"I know," he said softly, wincing a little when his voice came out higher than he had intended. "You don't have to make yourself touch me, you know." Yazoo stared at him, an his head slowly tilted to the side. Loz squirmed a little under the intense study, but he stopped when Yazoo's gaze lifted to his eyes again. Their gazes locked together, and Loz didn't get distracted by studying his brother's blindness this time. It wasn't the eyes that was important. It was what was in them.

As they respectively stood and knelt there, only a scant few feet apart, Loz became aware of the fact that they were looking at each other-really looking at each other-for the first time he could remember. Not a curious glance, or a casual study, but a true look. At the same time, he felt something stir in his chest, and suddenly he didn't have to wonder what Yazoo was feeling, because he knew. He knew that his own gaze would mirror that confused warmth. But even more important was the study was what he suddenly felt behind it. Yazoo's face hadn't moved in the slightest, and his posture remained unchanged, but it was like staring at an optical illusion when suddenly it pops and you understand. As Loz looked at him, he saw for the first time that his brother loved him. Not in any earth-shattering unheard of way. It wasn't like he was the only person his brother cared about-there was Kadaj to consider-but he did care.

Then something changed. The very air around them seemed to thicken, and Loz suddenly found himself unable to draw a breath, his breath widening in fear in the same moment as Yazoo jerked, his head whipping around to look uphill and to the left. Then, before he could think, Loz had been lifted, and found himself held against his elder brother's chest as Yazoo all but flew back down the mountain, the way they had come, his footing startlingly sure as they retraced their path, Loz clung to his shoulder, his wide eyes fixed on the mountain above them, feeling something horrible twisting over the rocky path behind them, searching them out.

He whimpered in fear, watching the trees warp behind them, and trying to hide more thoroughly in front of Yazoo. He glanced up, cautiously, to find that Yazoo's gaze was focused before them, but Loz realized that he couldn't see the wilderness around them reflected in his eyes, and knew that Yazoo was running on memory alone. He tightened his grip unconsciously.

As quickly as their flight had begun, Yazoo slowed to a brisk walk, both of his hands still wrapped around Loz, and his grip on the boy firm.

"Loz," he said, his voice breathless and strained, "where is the cave you saw before?" Loz lifted his head from Yazoo's chest wearily, still feeling like he was moving through molasses, and his body starting to shake. As he glanced around, he realized that Yazoo had brought them all the way back to where he had laid eyes on the abnormality, and pointed in the cave's direction with a shaking hand. Yazoo required no further prompting, and strode off the path, his feet crunching in the leaves below them. A distant part of Loz, not stunned and gasping by the lingering effects of the horrible presence, wondered if Yazoo could hear his footsteps. Then, suddenly, he found himself being set carefully on the ground, and locked his knees, staring up at Yazoo with stunned, frightened eyes, and not releasing the grip he had on his his brother's leather coat.

Yazoo didn't make him let go, and lifted his hands to cup Loz's cheeks, his face grim and set, and both of his eyes bright with intensity. Loz couldn't think clearly enough to pull away, or wonder why he was being touched. He just melted in the contact, staring into his brother's intense eyes as they flickered between him and the direction of the twisting presence further up the mountain. Loz still couldn't catch his breath. He could feel it getting closer...

"Loz," Yazoo's voice still sounded strangely strained, but there was a firm edge to it, that drew Loz's eyes back to him and away from the mountainside, "go inside the cave, and stay out of sight."

"But," Loz breathed, glancing up the mountain again.

"He won't find you," Yazoo said, and Loz shuddered under his brother's hands, his fists clenching in their grip, pulling a soft creak from the leather they held. "Go inside, and stay there. Don't come out until I come back for you." Loz pulled on the leather in his hold

"No," he whispered, though there was no force behind it. He had the sinking feeling that whatever twisted the world up there would rip Yazoo to shreds. "No, stay with me, we can..." a gentle finger alighting on his lips halted his words, and he jerked his gaze back to his brother from where it had, once more, been fixed behind him.

"No time," Yazoo whispered, and the fear was gone from his voice. There was only resolution. "Hide, Loz. I'll come back for you." Before Loz could object again, he was pulled into a firm hug, pressed against his brother's chest, and found himself hiding his face in Yazoo's neck before he could think. For that one moment, he thought it really might be okay. Then Yazoo released him, gave him a little shove backwards, and dropped his duffel bag before turning and running, all but disappearing on the mountainside in a flicker of silver.

Loz stood outside the cave for a long moment, with a pit of sickening fear in his stomach, but Yazoo's order was too clear in his head for him to ignore. He grabbed the bag and ran back into the darkness of the cave. He ducked into the first nook he came across and dropped the book bag from his shoulders to fall to the ground, curling his knees up to his chest and staring out of the cave, his breath coming in harsh gasps as the oppressive presence bore down on him, and tears streaming down his cheeks as he stared into the darkness of the caves, waiting for whatever horrible thing it was to come after him.

When he showed up, Yazoo had stopped running a long time ago, and stood, swaying, on the path, staring in his direction with dazed eyes. His body was trembling, all but begging him to give in under the immense power of his existence and proximity. Instead, he stood as still as he could, and watched his doom approach, forcing himself not to cry or scream, his impassive mask trembling at the edges. He didn't bother approaching quickly. He strode towards him evenly, his pale hair billowing in the light behind him, and equally pale eyes shining, the black coat twisting in the wake of his powerful stride. Yazoo tried to speak, and found his mouth too dry. He swallowed, and tried again.

"Hello, Sephiroth," he greeted in a rasp. Sephiroth's eyes narrowed slightly, and what looked like a pleased smile crossed those perfect bowed lips, sending him into a look of the utmost pleasure.

"Hello," the man purred as he closed the remaining distance between them and a gloved hand raised to touch Yazoo's cheek. Though the boy didn't allow himself to finch away from the contact or the man towering over him, he felt a tear slip down his face when the cold leather came to rest on his skin, "my worthless little puppet."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Inside, Yazoo was screaming. Sephiroth's touch, though light for the moment, was a promise of pain. Yazoo wanted nothing more than to run and never stop running-to grab Loz and escape, but this was Sephiroth he was talking about, and he knew he didn't stand a chance. What use could a remnant be against the whole-a clone against the original? He tried to pull away from the touch, once Sephiroth had had his say, but the hand clamped on his jaw, holding him easily in place, and turning his head. Yazoo struggled more earnestly to escape that position. Sephiroth had turned him to study his blind side, which left Yazoo awash in a sea of nothingness, unable even to see the man gripping his chin so tightly he could feel pale skin bruising. He still didn't lift his hands, secure in the knowledge that open resistance would be greeted with a cruel rebuttal.

"Even more damaged than before," Sephiroth purred, and Yazoo felt a second hand alight over his ruined eye, and quickly squeezed it closed. The powerful man chuckled at the futile motion and ran his fingertips over Yazoo's eyelid, and the clone knew it was just to let him know that Sephiroth could pluck it out, if he wanted. He tried to swallow and speak, but there was nothing for him to swallow. is mouth had gone dry the moment Sephiroth showed up, and even had he been able to speak, his voice would have shaken as much as his body. Sephiroth's hands slid lower, the one on his eye sliding down from its hold and trailing down Yazoo's face, leaving him whimpering softly in the wake of unwelcome touch before finding its way to the zipper on his leather coat, pulling it down. Yazoo reacted then, lashing out on sheer instinct, only to find both his hands slapped easily aside with stinging force and Sephiroth's long, tapering hand wrapped easily around his throat. His fingers almost touched in the back. Yazoo was still screaming inside.

"Where is the other?" Sephiroth purred calmly, as he released Yazoo's chin with a final, punishing jerk to allow himself to be seen. Yazoo didn't look. There was nothing he could do anyway. Why bother looking at the man who would rip him to shreds regardless? Then Sephiroth's question registered, and he was distracted by a new conundrum. Loz. He was still out there, hidden away, but if he didn't keep Sephiroth busy, they would both be destroyed. Their littlest deserved better. Kadaj had Aerith and Zack to protect him from the monster holding Yazoo's throat in a hand that could, at any moment, clamp down like a vice and crush the yielding flesh beneath it. Loz didn't have anyone.

"He ran," Yazoo grated from a throat like sandpaper, not giving himself time to think about the lie. "When he felt you coming." He turned his head to look at Sephiroth, ducking his chin as much as possible to gaze at the man from behind his hair. Sephiroth was so close (too close, part of him screamed, and he tried to push it away) Yazoo could see the flecks of silver in his pale eyes, and watch the cat-slit pupils expand and contract as he contemplated Yazoo's words. The calm smile never wavered. By the time Yazoo realized that Sephiroth had moved, he had already been struck across the face so hard it knocked him to the ground. He curled in on himself with a gasp, gripping his aching head in his hands and curling up in far-too-late self defense. He could tell Sephiroth hadn't broken anything. He could also tell it was intentional. He knew exactly how Sephiroth would have thought about it, how it would have felt for him to move that arm just quickly enough, just forcefully enough to cause pain. And there was pain. For a moment his gaze, which already could see only his own coat sleeves, went white with agony before a voice interrupted his suffering.

"Little liar," Sephiroth purred, and Yazoo heard the impact of his knee on the invisible soil as he knelt by his head. "Tell me where he is, and I will let you rest. You will become part of me again, and suffer no more of this." If he had the breath to do so, Yazoo would have screamed.

"He ran," he insisted in a sob. "I don't know where he-" he was cut off when Sephiroth's hand wrapped around his throat once more and hauled him to his feet, choking and gasping. When he caught the breath to blink, he found himself held nose to nose with the bigger man. The smile was gone, replaced by a snarl and eyes that burned straight through Yazoo in rage. He couldn't help but sob softly.

"I gave you a chance," Sephiroth growled, "for leniency." Before Yazoo could answer, (and he almost answered right then, almost told him about the cave, and his foolish, foolish notion that he might be able to protect someone,) Sephiroth tangled a hand in his hair, dropped his grip on his throat, and whirled to start walking.

Yazoo gasped softly and tried to follow, but Sephiroth was having none of it. With a jerk of his hand, and a painfully sharp pull on Yazoo's hair, he was forced to the ground again, and Sephiroth took a moment to press his face into the earth, cutting off his breath briefly. Yazoo squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath as best he could, but Sephiroth didn't release him until he had inhaled a mouthful of dirt and started choking on it. Then the taller man rose again and resumed his walking, dragging Yazoo behind him by his hair, and ignoring the boy's pained twisting.

Yazoo couldn't beg him to stop. His mouth was full of grit, and his lungs were trying desperately to expel the recent influx of debris and soil. He struggled for a purchase on Sephiroth's hands, his own clawing at the man's grip until Sephiroth shook him sharply, not even bothering to look back, and sent Yazoo's head reeling at the vicious motion. Out of energy, and deprived of options, Yazoo crumbled, writhing behind the man who had created him, and knowing with a sick, panicked certainty that this was only the beginning.

Loz was huddled in the same corner he had been left in by his brother, sitting facing the one open wall in his nook, which connected to the outside, and waiting for a familiar voice to call out to him. Aside from his soft sniffles, the cave was silent, though just outside it he could hear the faint birdsong he had previously been admiring. Now it just sounded to him like the world itself was mocking his misery. Wherever Yazoo had gone, Loz was starting to fear he wasn't coming back. He knew it probably hadn't been as long as he felt like it had, but the light from the front of the cave was dimming slowly, leaving his world ever darker. Soon there wouldn't even be the faint streak of sunlight that was reaching him now.

He had stopped outright crying a long time ago, but his sniffling continued unremittingly. His cheeks were stiff and uncomfortable where tears had dried on them, and his face hurt from making the same expression of sorrow for so long. Other than the soft sobs, though, he hadn't made a sound. At one point he'd gotten too hungry to ignore and eaten half a granola bar from the duffel bag Yazoo had carried before despair caught up to him and he lost his appetite again. Now he was cowered there, sniffling, and drumming impatient, worried fingers on his injured arm, reveling in the painful sting. He didn't like it per say, but it kept him grounded and alert.

He was starting to jitter just a little with tense exhaustion when he heard something that stopped his nervous energy dead. He held his breath, wondering if he had imagined it, but another followed quickly. A heavy footstep-definitely not the tread of his annoyingly light-footed brother, echoed through the cave, and Loz shifted, less than smoothly, but quietly enough, into a tense, attack-ready stance. He balled up his fists, and took a long, slow breath, steeling himself as another footstep sounded, then another, getting louder with every step. A shadow fell in the small strip of sunlight Loz could still see, and he tensed, ducking his chin and feeling his eyes flare as he prepared to fight. Another step, and he could almost feel his opponent approaching. At the first hint off actual human movement, Loz dove forward, one fist pulled back to deliver a murderous punch.

The figure he was diving for stepped aside without a word, and let out a sharp breath of laughter that froze Loz so completely he forgot to land right and stumbled before whirling around to face the tall man. The lavender eyes that beamed down at him from that height were achingly familiar, and Loz felt his chest tighten at the sight of them.

"There you are," Zack exclaimed happily. "You were pretty well hidden, little guy! Weren't you taller last time I saw you?" Loz stared up at him, half-crouched with lingering aggression, and his eyes slowly widening as they took in that easy grin and those laughing, affectionate eyes. He remembered Zack, both before and after loosing Angeal. He had always been so warm, so alive, and even now, when they were both technically dead, he hadn't changed in that respect. He looked like he was going to keep talking, but Loz shattered before he could and ran over, latching onto Zack's waist and sobbing into the heavy first-class's belt he still wore. For a moment, the cave was silent except for Loz's shattered crying, and Zack was stiff in his hold. The young almost-clone was terrified he'd messed it up, and Zack would leave too and he'd be alone again, but he couldn't let go and apologize. He couldn't even think about much of anything, except that it was Zack he was holding-Zack who he had lost before he even existed, and who had been so fiercely missed.

Just as he was certain he would be pushed to the floor, Zack grabbed him under his arms and lifted him, pulling him out of his hold only to settle him in a chest-height hug, wrapping his strong arms around Loz's still bizarrely small body. Loz returned the hug instantly, forcing his weakened arm to cooperate enough to lock his own grip around Zack's neck, even as he curled his feet around to clasp ankles behind the man's back to at least help hold himself up. Not that Zack was having any trouble with doing so by himself. He was so warm against Loz-as lively and vibrant as ever, and there was a soft sound coming from him, halfway between a soothing hum and a quiet chuckle. Loz sobbed into the high-necked first-class black turtleneck he wore, and couldn't even bring himself to feel bad for getting it wet.

"Hey, easy there, little guy," Zack crooned affectionately, and Loz almost lost it further at the gentle tone. Zack had always been such a good friend. Not that he'd ever been Loz's friend before. Not really. But it was close enough, because Loz remembered him, and no one was as warm and open as Zack, and since he was being held, it was close enough for him. When Zack shifted to go down on one knee and placed Loz back on his feet, the young remnant didn't fight him, sniffling and looking up at that kind, friendly face and his gentle smile.

"It's okay," Zack comforted softly as he placed both his hands firmly on Loz's shoulders, squeezing lightly. Loz wanted to believe him, but he shook his head quickly instead, trying to find his voice through a throat clenched shut after hours of crying.

"Y-y-y-" he stuttered, hiccuping with sorrow. Zack put an affectionate finger to his lips, breaking into a gentle grin.

"Deep breath," he instructed, "then try again." Loz tried to follow the instruction, and ended up taking more of a long sniffle than a deep breath, and choking a little afterwards. As he concentrated on not hacking up a lung in front of the Zack Fair, he felt a hand lightly ruffle his hair, and almost fell apart again.

"Yazoo," he managed to sob. "H-he left, and..." Zack patted his cheek twice lightly to let him know he could stop there, and nodded, the faintest half-sad smile on his face still.

"I know," he said calmly. "I'm sorry it took me a while to find you." Loz shook his head fiercely and grabbed one of Zack's arms.

"Can you help him?" he asked desperately. Zack blinked in surprise, then gave Loz one of the saddest looks Loz could remember seeing on his face. Not so stricken as the time he lost Angeal, but more like... more like he had failed something.

"No," he said calmly, and with that hint of sorrow. "There's nothing I can do for your brother. Are you even sure he needs saving?" Loz nodded fervently at the question, his grip on Zack's arm tightening in desperation.

"Something bad took him," he said with certainty. Zack's sad gaze didn't change.

"You don't think he left you behind and went with the bad thing on purpose?" he asked, and Loz glared at him, lips pursing and stomping his foot sharply.

"No," he snapped, and he knew his eyes were blazing from his reflections in the warm blue pools of Zack's own gaze. "He wouldn't do that! He doesn't like strangers. I know he didn't want to go! You have to help, Zack! You're a hero! That's what heroes do!"

His fury was halted abruptly when Zack's face shifted abruptly from sad, stern warning into a smile like a sunrise, and he was pulled forward. He gasped in surprise as he was held once more to Zack's chest, the man's arms firm around him, and that soft, spiky hair tickling his cheek and nose. The grip hurt his arm, but he didn't mind too much. He couldn't quite get his head around it, that Zack was with him. He found it even more difficult to figure out why Zack had refused to help. He sobbed softly and hid his face in the soldier's shoulder.

"Why won't you help him?" he choked out sadly. The hands tightened a little, and Loz felt Zack tilt his head towards him, nuzzling his hair lightly.

"I would if I could, kiddo," he said softly, "but I'm not allowed to help that much. We're all only allowed to help once, and if I saved Yazoo now, you two would only get hurt again, and I wouldn't be able to help anything." Loz sniffled, and tried to hold himself back from screaming in the man's ear.

"I don't understand," he managed to whimper rather than howl. Zack made a little sound and pulled back to hold Loz at arm's length, his hands firm on his shoulders. Loz sniffled, and lifted his good hand to wipe at his nose. Zack's face was weird-twisted up in a strange, strained smile. Loz hiccuped softly again as he tried to keep from bursting into tears again.

"Holy shit," Zack groaned softly, "how the hell could Angeal resist that face..." Loz tilted his head, brows furrowing in confusion, only to be attacked gently by Zack's hands moving up to ruffle his short hair fiercely. It didn't distract him from his point, but he had to laugh a little at the move. Zack didn't noogie just anyone, he reassured himself.

"The rules really don't make any sense," Zack admitted as he patted Loz twice on the head in the wake of his noogie attack. "It's all based on Gaia's whim, and between you and me Minerva's a little obnoxious. What's important is that I'm here now, and I'm going to do what I can." Loz snuffled, patting his hair back into place absently with his working arm.

"What can you do?" he asked, curiosity overwhelming his disappointment. Zack's answering grin was pure childish pleasure, and it awoke an answering smile in Loz, though he was sure it looked weird with tears still on his face. Whatever Zack was up to, that look suggested it would be seriously enjoyable. Loz was really hoping it involved kicking some butt.

"I can help you help him," the dark haired man said, mischief sparkling in his eyes. Loz raised his eyebrows and tried not to shrink at the thought. Did Zack seriously think he was going to stand a chance against that suffocating presence from before? He wanted to refuse, and walk away, but there was such absolute certainty in Zack's blue eyes that he couldn't bring himself to. He just whimpered softly.

"Easy," Zack said softly as his big hands tightened briefly in their hold on Loz's shoulders, and the young man was struck yet again by how small he was in this new body. Zack positively dwarfed him. "You can do this, Loz. In fact, you're the only one who can do this. Do you believe me?" Loz wondered why he even bothered to ask. Zack had to know that it was impossible not to put your trust in his wide smile. Sephiroth had, before... before things had changed, and though Loz's memories were screaming that Zack was a traitor to them, he didn't think so. He wasn't much good at words, so he had to judge people by their actions, and Zack had never tried to hurt them. He nodded slowly.

"M'kay," he muttered softly. "What do I gotta do?" Zack lit up again, his teeth flashing in the dimming light, and Loz found himself pulled into yet another Zack Fair specialty hug. This time, the bigger man didn't even try to restrain himself from nuzzling into Loz's hair in affection. Loz bit back a yelp when his tender arm was pressed against the First's chest, but melted into the hold. No one had ever touched him as much as Zack had in the last ten minutes. At least, not that he remembered. Even if it did hurt his injured arm, he wasn't about to ask the affectionate man to stop. Something in him warmed at the contact. But Zack was a little sharper than people gave him credit for, and just as Loz was starting to actually hurt instead of just being annoyed by the sting, Zack let him go and placed a gentle hand on his elbow, careful not to touch the wound itself.

"Mind if I take a look?" he asked sweetly. Loz shook his head quickly and unzipped his shirt with one hand as Zack carefully took his arm out of the sling. Loz only winced a little when he pulled the damaged arm out of his sleeve and offered it to Zack again with just a hint of worry in his gaze. Those lavender eyes were fixed on him again, lit from within as only Zack's could be. His arm was taken and supported in enormous, gentle hands, and Loz watched in wonder as Zack carefully unwound the bandage from his forearm with practiced, skillful movements, and wondered how many people the man had done this for. The likely answer, he knew, was that he'd gotten good at it when he and Nii-san had been trapped together. He sniffled softly, his eyes flickering down to the scars on Zack's cheek.

"Am I hurting you?" Zack asked in worry. Loz shook his head quickly, letting his gaze leave the scar to look at how long the man's hair was. It was just as he remembered it from when Zack was still Angeal's puppy and not one of the heroes of the planet.

"Wooaaahhh," Zack muttered as he lifted line of cotton padding away from the wound in his arm, prompting Loz to look down at the gross, bright-red streak of scabs streaking down his forearm. "How did you even get this?" Loz sniffled, and smiled just a little at Zack's carefree words. He'd always thought he was more like Zack than Sephiroth, somehow.

"Monster," he muttered, rather surprised by his own bashfulness, but feeling weird talking about his injury in front of Zack, who'd been so hurt before. He sniffled again at the reminder of the goofy Soldier's fate, and bit back his tears.

"Nice," Zack complimented with a laugh. "Now, normally, I'd just let this heal, because it's better if you can do it all by yourself. You might say the healing kinda... sticks better if you do it. But you know? I don't think you'll have any problems with this anymore. And besides, a hero needs to be in top form before going out on a mission."

"What?" said Loz in confusion. Zack didn't answer with anything more than a grin, but he had one hand hovering over the long, uncomfortable scab, and before Loz could ask what he was doing, Zack had drawn that hand down his arm, making Loz cry out softly in pain, but leaving only a memory of searing heat, and a pearly white scar.

"Sorry. You okay?" Zack asked softly as the same hand that had closed the wound slid down to grasp his hand, squeezing it gently in comfort. Loz was still staring.

"Y-yeah," he muttered softly, flexing the muscles in his forearm, and clenching Zack's hand in return. It didn't hurt anymore. He wiped the twinging tears of pain out of his eyes with his other hand, scrubbing his face briskly.

"Tough kid," Zack praised easily. "Now then. Let's settle down, okay? I'll stay with you tonight, and help you figure out how to help your brother, then in the morning we'll go after him. Sound about right?" Loz swallowed heavily.

"Then you'll leave," he guessed softly. Zack blinked luminous eyes at him, then seemed to droop.

"I don't like it either," he whispered softly, "but you can handle this, Loz. I'm really sorry you have to, but you can. I'll be doing everything I can for you from my side, I promise." Loz blinked at him slowly, knowing his face was solemn, and wondering if it looked dumb on him. If it did, Zack didn't let on.

"I know you will," Loz reassured, though he knew Zack was the one with the power here, and shouldn't have required reassuring. But that was Sephiroth talking, and Loz could read people better. It hurt Zack, the hero of heroes, to be unable to help, and Loz didn't want to be the cause of Zack's hurt. He was gratified when he was swept up into another hug, that this time ended up with Zack sitting against the wall with Loz in his lap, snuggling him like an enormous teddy bear.

"You are too cute, you know that?" Zack teased softly. "Now then, why don't we talk about what to do next. I don't know the specifics of what happened, so tell me everything you remember, okay Loz? And don't worry. Yazoo's tough as nails, like you. He'll be okay." Loz closed his eyes and leaned against Zack's sturdy frame. He started talking almost automatically, because most of him was listening to the heartbeat under Zack's chest in wonder, and hoping that the man wasn't wrong.

Yazoo had long ago stopped bothering to fight. He had managed to get his good hand, clasped on Sephiroth's dark leather glove, and as long as he could hold that grip, the pain was bearable. It at least didn't feel like Sephiroth was going to rip his scalp off. He couldn't get the breath to start screaming, and even if he could have, he was far too afraid to try. Sephiroth hadn't said a word since he first started dragging Yazoo uphill, and was maintaining that silence as they continued ever higher up the mountain side. Yazoo had struggled as long as he could-put up the token futile resistance until he had been assured there was no escaping the grip unless he was willing to tear out his own hair, which, in his panic, he almost had. But then he'd thought of Loz, and had stopped himself. Fighting too hard would just kill him sooner, and he needed to keep Sephiroth busy until Loz decided he'd been abandoned and got away.

So he let himself be dragged, and tried to keep his feet from catching on the roots sticking out of the ground he couldn't see, and his hair attached to his scalp, just in case Sephiroth decided that it didn't make too good a handhold and switched to his throat again. He could, at least, breathe now. Mostly, anyway. Why he needed to was still beyond him, but he did, and this was not the time to consider the reasons behind it. His ankle wrenched as it snagged on a tangled bush, and Yazoo managed to kick it free before Sephiroth snapped the joint with is unrelenting step. He received a vicious shake from the hand holding his hair at the motion, and would have swayed, had he been standing, as his head reeled in response, and what vision he had faded out for a moment before coming back full of swirling sparkles of light that he knew were an indication of how close he was to just passing out.

Beyond the swirls of imaginary light, something changed, and it took Yazoo what seemed like ages to realize what it was. When the dizziness started to recede, Yazoo realized that he could see again. In the same flickering pencil lines that he had before, and with less accuracy than he would like but he could see none the less. Sephiroth gave another sharp yank to haul him forward, and a whimper escaped him as he grimaced. The stronger man chuckled richly in his throat in amusement, and the painful move was repeated. This time, Yazoo held his tongue, and, fortunately, the sound of Sephiroth's amusement died away to be replaced by a constant rustle of leaves. Yazoo blinked blearily, staring down at the faintly visible outlines of the foliage-encrusted ground, and tried not to throw up, knowing it wouldn't be pleasant, and Sephiroth wouldn't hesitate for the sickness. He really didn't want to be towed through his own vomit.

He quickly cut off that line of thinking when it make his stomach lurch warningly, and tried to worm around to see where they were going, twisting to half-stumble half-crawl behind Sephiroth, increasing the pull on his hair with the turn. Sephiroth didn't seem to mind terribly much, though in terms of his position, it only managed to make it slightly more difficult for Yazoo to breathe. He kept one hand placed over Sephiroth's glove to lighten the pull as much as possible, and used the other to help his balance, then looked ahead.

He didn't even have time to think about his reaction. His hand clamped over Sephiroth's, and his other drove up as he twisted, snapping the man's arm at the elbow and breaking his grip. Yazoo spilled out of his hold, tumbling downhill a short ways before slamming his bruised body into a break-neck sprint down the mountain. He hadn't taken more than five steps before he was on the ground again with a solid weight pressing down on his back. He screamed in defiance and struck backwards with his elbow only to have a large hand reach around and cover his mouth and nose, clamping down on the tender flesh as Sephiroth sat astride his back calmly. He fought back-clawed at the grip with everything he had, but Sephiroth's leather protected his hand from clawing, and the grip was unshakable. The hand pulled back, and Yazoo tried to gasp behind it, but found himself unable to draw in air. Sephiroth dragged Yazoo's head away from the ground, still settled on his lower back and forcing Yazoo to arch backwards, leaving his neck fully exposed and constricting his breathing further still. He jerked against the hold, hand struggling to find a grip that he could exploit on Sephiroth's body.

A low chuckle hummed through the powerful man, and Yazoo half-sobbed behind the hand, feeling tears of desperation spill down his cheeks as Sephiroth turned his head to gaze at the hated facade of the Nibelheim Mansion. Yazoo moaned behind the hand clamped over his mouth, loosing precious air, but unable to stop himself from making the sound.

"Poor little puppet," Sephiroth purred into the ear of his blind side. Even if Yazoo could have breathed, he would have stopped at the feel of hot breath on his ear, and the dark amusement in the voice. He twitched in Sephiroth's hold, trying to turn until he could see his captor's face to no avail. "Where did you think I was taking you?" Sephiroth drew Yazoo's head back further still, drawing a muffled protest from him as his back craned further against his will. The hand not clamped over his mouth reached around, and Yazoo stared at it out of his working eye in horror. He knew he had broken that arm. He was sure he had broken it, and yet Sephiroth moved it like it had never taken an injury. When the hand rested on his hip, Yazoo started fighting again, without thought, feeling as though he'd been stuffed full of cotton. He needed to breathe. His lungs were burning inside him, and the hands he tried to shove Sephiroth's touch away with were weak and ineffectual. His heart thundered in his injured chest, the bruises and ill-healed bone screaming with the movement Sephiroth had forced upon them.

"Fight all you want," Sephiroth laughed softly, and Yazoo screamed shrilly behind the restraining hand, the last of his breath escaping him as Sephiroth licked the pale flesh of his earlobe, then bit lightly at his neck, his dark laughter rumbling through Yazoo's skin. The boy jerked once more against the touch, but it was a feeble motion. Blackness crept in at the edges of what little he could see, and he felt his body give way to the oblivion of unconsciousness, and hoped beyond hope that he would not wake up again.

The pain didn't fade when he was taken over by the forced sleep. The burning in his chest and lungs didn't ease, and the aches and pains of his tortured body dug themselves deeply into his unconscious mind. Images swam through Yazoo's head, of Zack and Angeal, laughing, of Genesis preening as he stood in the middle of the VR room, with a host of dismembered opponents around him and Rapier flaming in his hand. Images of Sephiroth, looking back at him from a mirror and forcing his lips to curl upwards into a smile, practicing it until it no longer looked like a pained grimace. His mind seemed to favor that image, and pulled up still more. Yazoo wanted to cower away from them, but where would he run? He could try and wake up, and fight off the inevitable, but to run away from Sephiroth's images to the man himself seemed somewhat counterproductive. Instead he cowered in his mind, watching from Sephiroth's eyes as he studied himself in mirrors, and forced expressions onto a face that had never before known anything but a blank mask. They were little lies, every one of them, but after watching Sephiroth practice each, Yazoo was gifted the look on the faces of his friends when he tried it out on them, watching Genesis light up in pride as though he had created Sephiroth's smile, and Angeal's eyes widen in surprise. The puppy never had to know the blank, empty Sephiroth. Not until those days in the mansion...

He wanted to howl in fear and pain at the remembrance of that time. His memory, helpfully, drew up the horrors of Sephiroth's mind, trapped in self-imposed confinement with mother screaming in one ear and Zack calling out to the other desperately, while the words from book after book after book drove him closer and closer to madness. He could feel the physical pain of each word registering in his chest, the pounding headache brought on by too much information, and to much screaming. He remembered walking out of the mansion, sword in hand, and seeking to slaughter those making his mother yell so loudly, just for the blessed silence it would bring, and how no silence could be had, because Zack was still there, and The Cadet-Cloud, his mind provided in a hate-filled hiss-so they would have to be taken care of as well. He remembered trying to shrug off the notion of killing Zack as ludicrous, and finding his will surrounded on all sides, and his sword and face moving without his full consent.

Yazoo's thoughts froze, and he slowly tried to pull himself away from Sephiroth's memories, but not with as much force or anger as he had before. That wasn't right. That wasn't how it had happened. And Sephiroth didn't hate or fear mother, he was her chosen, so what had that memory been tainted with horror? It didn't make any since. Sephiroth wasn't afraid of Zackary, and never had been. He had defeated him easily enough, after all. But the lingering feeling of terror and impotence clung like napalm to Yazoo's unconscious mind, insisting with startling vehemence that Sephiroth had been scared. Yazoo swallowed, and for the first time in a very long while, he succumbed to curiosity and let Sephiroth's memory rush over him.

He couldn't stop fighting. Couldn't stop. Couldn't hold back from cutting Zack down. Couldn't stop himself from cutting off the head of his own mother. Couldn't hold back from skewering the young cadet on the end of his blade. Couldn't stop himself from running from the reality, jumping into the life stream, but he knew if he hadn't fought it, he wouldn't have. If he hadn't been fighting to regain himself, his body wouldn't have jumped, and who knows what would have happened if he'd given in. He remembered falling and falling and falling, long after he should have hit the Mako's surface and torn to shreds, with his mother's severed head clutched in his arms like a child's toy.

Then he remembered being back in the mansion. He watched the corridors flash by, one after another, left turns and right turns, and stairways full of cobwebs. And then he remembered being weak, for the first time in so long he barely recalled the name for it, and the feeling of being restrained as his arms and legs and chest and neck were secured to the table by thick leather straps he should have been able to break and couldn't. And then there was pain, and blood in his mouth, and a scream that couldn't stop. Sephiroth was above him, laughing. Sephiroth stripped him, and cut lines on his flesh to watch him bleed, and then-then he-

Yazoo came to himself when he hit the floor, and gasped for breath, his head reeling, trying to clamber to his feet and managing only to stumble before crumbling to the ground again. The air he was sucking in burned his lungs, and he could feel the heat in his eyes as tears fell unhindered by his self control. The floor was cold under him, and a dark marbled color. He could see it, and he knew that was bad, but he couldn't focus on it. What the hell had that been in his mind? He had never seen that memory before, and it was a vivid one. How could he remember Sephiroth looming above him like that? He'd never even seen the man in person until he'd been captured. At the recollection of his current position, Yazoo halted his fevered, confused thoughts and turned bleary eyes to the rest of the room.

Sephiroth was easy enough to locate. He was sitting, relaxed, in a tall-backed chair, looking like an emperor in his throne. Yazoo stared at him out of fear-stained eyes, and raised a shaking hand to wipe the blood off his forehead, glancing down at the splotch of it on the floor to confirm that it was from the hard landing he had just been granted. Sephiroth's eyes board into him, and Yazoo wanted to shrink away to nothing under the look. Of course it would have been too easy for Sephiroth to just kill him. He should have known. The man leaned back in his throne-like chair, his silver hair spilling around him like he riches of kingdoms and the derisive, cruel smile plastered over his thin lips.

"Welcome back," he sneered, and Yazoo stiffened at the words, trying again to pick himself up off the floor before slumping once more into a ruined heap, defeated by his own weakness, and lying exhausted on the floor. Sephiroth laughed more fully at the pathetic display, and Yazoo only just bit back a moan.

"Now then," Sephiroth purred, rising to his feet and stepping over slowly. Yazoo kept him in his gaze as he scooted back as far as he could, finding himself all too quickly in a corner. "What shall I do with you?" The taller man looked him over, and Yazoo cringed under the hungry look, hiding behind his arms, feeling the bruises on his face from Sephiroth's rough treatment, and his chest and ribs stabbing with pain from the abuse he had already suffered. The demon general's footsteps never faltered.

"You are a pretty thing," warrior murmured. "Shall I pin you like a bug on Masamune and watch you writhe?" Yazoo whimpered at the idea, knowing it was more than likely. "Shall I peel your pretty skin off and see if it grows back a whiter shade?" Yazoo sobbed hollowly, curling up in the fetal position and begging whatever gods might exist to get him away. "Shall I remove that ugly blank eye of yours and have you eat it?" Yazoo's stomach lurched. The footsteps stopped as Sephiroth reached him, and Yazoo grabbed his own legs, fighting to stay curled up and partially hidden. Sephiroth went to one knee slowly, and though he couldn't see him, Yazoo could feel the threat in the movement.

"Shall I strip you naked and take you, here on the floor? Shall I make you bleed for me before we are one again, little fragment?" Yazoo curled up further, a high, keening sound escaping him, even as he pressed his lips tight to try and silence it. Sephiroth's hands descended and ripped apart the slight comfort of his closed-off pose, sending him sprawling on the floor and catching his eyes. The predatory light in his silver-green eyes froze Yazoo where he lay, and he couldn't move when Sephiroth straddled him, slowly before leaning over and crushing their lips together in a savage kiss that was more for pain that pleasure. Yazoo sobbed and tried to pull away, but he could do nothing until Sephiroth pulled back with a laugh, leaving the younger boy with blood in his mouth and a terrifying hollow feeling.

"Ah," Sephiroth purred, licking his lips slowly. "But I suppose that's the best thing, isn't it, little remnant." Yazoo closed his eyes to him, turning his head away and pulling his arms to his chest, protecting himself as much as possible as Sephiroth started to laugh again. "You and I are both dead, so I can kill you as many ways as I please."

Though he would never admit it, Yazoo prayed in that moment. He begged for the goddess to destroy him, or to send someone to save him, but he knew it would never happen. Mrs. Strife had been left far behind. Angeal had already saved him once, and against his will. Zack and Aerith were with Kadaj, and he'd made sure that Loz would not be coming. With his final breath before the torment began, Yazoo inhaled deeply and screamed.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

"It's Sephiroth, isn't it." Loz said softly as he rode on Zack's back up the mountain. He didn't need to be carried, of course. He felt strong, and good, at least in comparison to how he'd felt with a gaping hole in his arm, but Zack had insisted. Technically, Zack has said 'let me do what I can?' in such a pleading voice that Loz would have had to possess no heart at all to turn him down. So now he was riding on his back, ever closer to the presence that, last time, hadn't let him breathe with its weight. At the question, Zack stiffened a little under him, then bowed his head. His spikes bobbed in response, and tickled Loz's cheek, even though he had hooked his chin over Zack's shoulder to avoid just such a sensation. It seemed there was no escaping Zack's wonderful spikiness.

"Yeah," the dark haired man muttered as he slowed his pace a little, "It is." Loz fell silent for a long moment, trying to think of what he could say to make the man feel better. He knew Zack had blamed himself for lots of things. He remembered how personally the young fighter had taken the loss of his friends, and how outraged he had been on Sephiroth's behalf at the realization of every dark deed done to him. He could only imagine how much it would have hurt him to see Sephiroth call him traitor. Loz hated his progenitor for that, even though he knew he was supposed to think of Sephiroth as something more like a god. If he gave Zack up for his screaming, angry mother, then as far as Loz was concerned he was an idiot.

"He wasn' always like that," Loz finally said, his voice low so as not to deafen Zack with proximity. "You really were his friend. I remember." Zack turned his head to look at him, pale blue eyes wide, then a smile lit his face.

"I know," he replied, briefly tightening his hold on the back of Loz's knees where he was holding him to keep him on his back. "Thank you, Loz." Loz nodded and snuggled his cheek into the man's shoulder guard, and inhaled his slightly cinnamon tinted scent, then gasped softly as he caught a whiff of something mingled in. Something more acidic and familiar than his earthy smell.

"You... Uh..." he murmured, shifting with agitation. Zack chuckled softly.

"Go on, spit it out," he goaded easily, and Loz had to laugh a little at the tease. If Yazoo had been saying it, it would have sounded mean. Loz had to fight of an unexpected rush of melancholy at the thought before he continued.

"M-Mama Strife said you'd been looking after-" his voice broke before he could say his name, but Zack let out a soft sigh of recognition.

"Kadaj." The name came out with a fond, and faintly exasperated note to it, and Loz found himself relaxing a little in spite of his worry. "Yeah, he's been staying with Aerith and I."

"Aerith and me," Loz muttered automatically into the man's shirt. Zack laughed brightly.

"Yeah, there's definitely some Seph in you, Loz. Aerith and me." Loz tugged lightly on the crossed straps over Zack's chest.

"Is he..." he couldn't finish the phrase, because of course he wasn't. They were all dead. And yet, Loz didn't feel okay, and he knew Yazoo couldn't be feeling anything but horrible at the moment. He couldn't help but want to know that one of them was safe.

"He misses you," Zack said calmly, his step not faltering as the incline steepened again.

"We miss him too," Loz muttered sadly. "W-would'ja tell him that?" Zack chuckled softly, and hitched him a little higher on his back, jostling him just a little.

"Of course." The words put Loz startlingly at ease, and he let out a long breath. "You realize, of course, that once I tell him that he's never going to forgive you if you don't make it, right?" Loz laughed, slightly breathlessly, but both of them knew it wasn't really funny. Zack's step slowed a little, and Loz sighed again, resting his head once more against Zack's strong neck. When next he opened his eyes, he could see their destination, and it made him catch his breath and tighten his grip on Zack.

The mansion was burned into his mind. He remembered it vividly, though he and his brothers had avoided Nibelheim like the plague while they still lived, through and unspoken pact between them. The shattered flickers of Sephiroth's memory from those final days lurked behind Loz's eyes, and he could see the building as Sephiroth had, striding up towards it on his own two legs, even as he clung to Zack's back.

"I don't think I can do this," he whispered softly. "I feel sick..."

"You'll do fine," Zack asserted softly, but Loz could feel the tension in him. He held on a little tighter, realizing that Zack probably hated this place just as much as he did, if not more.

"What happens if Sephiroth kills me? Where do you go if you die in the life stream?" Loz asked, his voice a little less strong than he would have liked. Zack tightened his hold again, and said nothing. Loz didn't need more of an answer than that. The 'I don't know' was heavily implied. He sniffled, and tried not to cry, but still managed to get Zack's neck a little damp with tears. He knew his time with Zack, so precious to him, was fleeting at best, and that he wouldn't have much longer to indulge in his long-ignored want for affection. As he had figured, it was not another minute before Zack's steps slowed, then stopped all together. The man went slowly and silently to one knee, letting Loz's feet hit the ground so that he could get off his back easily and without struggle. Loz didn't want to let go, but he did anyway, and looked up to the mansion looming over him with a hard fear lodged in his chest. He could feel the suffocating presence from before, though at least it didn't appear to be focused on him this time. His gut wrenched as he realized that meant it was probably bearing down on Yazoo instead. Without turning his head, he slipped around in front of Zack and backed up until he touched his chest, knowing the other man's gaze would be fixed on the mansion as well.

"I don' wanna go," he whispered like a confession. He could feel himself shaking in his boots, quite literally, and hated himself a little for showing cowardice in front of the ever-brave Zack Fair. He was wrapped up, quietly, in a hug from behind, and let himself sink into the hold, the mansion blurring in his vision as tears spilled down his cheeks. "He'll kill me."

"No," Zack responded, his voice as solid as the mountain they both stood on, and deep with a strange sort of knowledge that he had always possessed. "Seph can't kill you, Loz." It was a weird thing to say, because Loz was very very aware of the fact that he was stuck in a seven year old's body without a weapon, and that his leather couldn't protect him forever. He turned to stare at Zack, and was floored by the conviction in his eyes. Zack took him by both shoulders and turned him fully away from the mansion, looking him dead in the eye with his bright, clear gaze, a grim, solemn set to his mouth and looking as strong and solid as Angeal ever had.

"Sephiroth can't even touch you," he said firmly. "Not if you don't let him. You remember what you said earlier, that he wasn't always 'like this?' You're right. He lost something along the way-more than his mind. He lost his soul. I've been to that mansion ten times since he died to try and get him to remember who he really is, and he never does, Loz." Loz swallowed.

"Is it our fault?" He asked softly. "Is it because we took some of his soul?" Zack had started shaking his head before Loz even finished.

"Souls are kind of malleable," he corrected. "People are loosing pieces of themselves all the time, and changing constantly. You and your brothers stopped being just pieces of Seph almost immediately after you appeared. You made your own spirits." He sighed softly, and cast a look to the mansion that was far older than it should have been. "Sephiroth was broken a long time before you three showed up. In fact, I'm surprised there was enough soul to him to make you three. It's weird. There's something seriously wrong in that mansion." Loz swallowed, and Zack turned his gaze back to him and gave him an apologetic smile.

"That said," he continued gently, "I did have a point. Seph can't lay a finger on you if you don't let him, Loz. In fact, I doubt he'll even try to hurt you. He'll try to break you instead, but you know better than to let him, right?" Loz nodded solemnly, though he didn't understand exactly what Zack was talking about.

"What about Yazoo?" he asked softly. Zack's smile dimmed a little, and he shook his head softly.

"If what you told me is right, and Yazoo went with him to save you, I'm pretty sure he'll be okay." Zack assured softly. "He's not quite as strong as you, but he's getting stronger, if I'm right, and even if Seph did hurt him, I bet he'll recover fast once you get him out." Zack's voice almost sounded like he believed it. Loz felt sick to his stomach anyway.

"Why do you think he can't hurt me?" Loz asked, knowing he was stalling for time and hating himself for it. "Why won't he just cut my head of with Masamune?" Zack made a little distressed noise, and Loz regretted the words, but the man didn't appear too worried. Just a little disturbed by the thought.

"I wish I could explain it," Zack said calmly, and his voice was still stunningly even. His grip tightened on Loz's shoulders, but it felt a little different. "Just trust me. You'll know when you see him." The man flickered before Loz's eyes, and he gasped softly. He'd known his time with Zack was getting short, but he hadn't expected he man to start disappearing.

"Don't worry," Zack said, his voice still strong even as he himself seemed to fade, the smile still strong on his face. "I'll see you again soon. Don't be scared, Loz." And with that final thought, the pressure on Loz's shoulders vanished, as did the man kneeling before him, though for a moment, Loz could have sworn those eyes remained, twinkling at him with unspoken mischief, with a depth of worry, and endless amounts of patience and affection. It took a long time for Loz to look away from where he had been and face the mansion again, but he did. he couldn't run away he would never be able to face Zack again if he did. He inhaled deeply, thinking to himself Yazoo's in there alone.

It didn't take him too long to take the first step forward, and the second followed easily. He felt absolutely minuscule in front of the enormous building, but he didn't let it stop him. He knew where the door was, and turned his steps towards it, and started counting them, to give his overactive mind something to do other than imagining exactly how badly Sephiroth was going to hurt him, and puzzling over Zack's uncharacteristically cryptic words.

The mansion's entrance loomed over him, far larger than he remembered, until he remembered that he was far shorter than Sephiroth had been. When he pushed at the door, it opened with a screaming moan, and Loz knew stealth wouldn't be an option. He stepped through into the empty foyer and swiveled his head slowly, taking in grandiose curved stairways and dust covered surfaces, and tried not to sneeze at the pervading musty scent in the air. The silence around him seemed forced, and the creak of the door had not echoed nearly enough for the vast, empty space. It both worried and confused him that the picture frames on the wall had been reproduced to the letter, save for the expressions on the portrait faces. They all looked as blank as the walls that held them. With a shudder, Loz turned his attention to the dust covered floor.

The wood must once have been a brilliant reddish-brown, but the dust of years covered it, and turned it a dead, slate color. Except for a few splotches where a hint of the original red gleamed through. Loz frowned and walked over to them, ignoring the door that slammed shut behind him with an ominous clash. His eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness of the enclosed space, and he let his eyes follow the series of redder smudges. Evenly spaced, and regularly shaped. He smiled a little to himself. Sephiroth wasn't so super human that he didn't leave footprints in the dust.

He followed the smudged trail, and tried not to think about the fact that there was only one set of footprints, and that his own stride was half again the length of Sephiroth's. The trail led through a door, into a carpeted room, but after a little work, Loz was able to find the footsteps again, brightening the once-expensive Wutaian rug. It led him upstairs next, and through another two doors before he heard a soft chuckle come down a hallway to his left, and knew he didn't have to hunt for a trail to follow anymore. He turned slowly, and stepped quietly down the hall, his footsteps muffled by the dust, but not muffled enough.

"Ahh," the deep rumble of Sephiroth's voice ghosted through the air, and Loz felt the hair on the back of his neck and arms prickle with tension. "You see, my pet? He didn't run at all. Here he comes crawling to my doorstep." Loz's back stiffened, and he straightened automatically as he walked towards that voice with even steps. He wasn't crawling, and he wasn't going to. Though he was somewhat worried about what sort of thing Sephiroth might keep for a pet. He remembered with a shiver the beast that had taken a hunk out of his arm, then ran his hand over the healed flesh, feeling only the leather covering it, but knowing that beneath that was no more than a pale scar. He took a deep breath, hardened himself, and stepped around the corner.

He supposed he should have expected to see Sephiroth lounging on something like a throne. The room was barren, and unlike the other rooms, the floor shone so brightly you could see your reflection in it. It was lit with candelabras holstered to the walls, and a great chandelier dripped like a flower showered in decadent dew from the ceiling. Loz didn't spare more than a glance for the room, and it was only to give himself time to steel himself against the weight of Sephiroth's gaze. He let his eyes draw up the slim gilded rug that trailed through the center of the room to Sephiroth's tall black throne, and his gaze froze before it even got close to reaching the eyes that weighed so heavily on him.

Yazoo was splayed between Sephiroth's legs, draped like a broken doll over one of the man's legs, still clothed in his dark leathers, with a single rip in the material over a still-bloody wound in his side. It was his eyes that scared Loz. His good eye, the one that should have lifted the moment Loz entered, to give him a look that at once said 'you're an idiot' and 'thank you' (if Loz was lucky) was as dull as his blind one, though undamaged, and remained dazedly pointed towards the nothingness of the clean floor. His lips were slightly blood-stained, and looked like they'd been forced too wide, judging by the scabs at their corners, but all in all, he appeared relatively undamaged. Loz might have believed it if not for those eyes.

"Do you like what I've done with him?" purred Sephiroth calmly. Loz didn't bother looking at him. Not yet. He was waiting for Yazoo to look up, to wink, to let him know it was all an act, and he was safe. "I made a few adjustments, of course, but they're all quite pleasing ones. Honestly, he's much more fun than I thought a mere remnant would be. Though really, I had hoped to make use of more of him. These are most unusual clothes." A pale hand reached down over Yazoo's face, and it chilled Loz to the bone that his brother didn't react to the invasive touch trailing across his cheek, and the fingers that brushed over his bloodied lips, pulling them further open for a moment, showing perfect teeth. That hand, mercifully, didn't linger on the elder boy's face, but slid lower to touch the zipper at Yazoo's slim throat, and pulled it down slowly, revealing pale skin inch by inch, only to jerk as it appeared to be jolted by an invisible force. Sephiroth's hand hovered before the pale chest it had uncovered as the zipper pulled itself closed once more, unassisted by human interference. Loz didn't let it phase him. Of course Mrs. Strife's mended clothes would be a little special. It was only right. Yazoo still hadn't so much as twitched, and Loz was starting to get angry.

He looked up to Sephiroth, steeling himself for battle, not about to leave his brother splayed in this man's lap, so broken and empty looking. He met the man's inhuman cat-like gaze, and instantly knew it was wrong. Sephiroth's eyes were mocking, and belittling, and confident over his twisted smirk, but they were completely empty. It wasn't like Yazoo's gaze, where there was no intelligence behind the wounded, damaged eyes. It was like there as no soul behind them, even though it should have been the case that Sephiroth was nothing but soul. Even at his most empty and guarded times in life there had been a hidden warmth in Sephiroth's gaze. There was none of that now, and Loz knew, all of a sudden, what Zack had meant. Sephiroth was less that he was, even if he was a remnant. He turned his gaze back to his brother, and decided to ignore the man whose hand still draped over his defenseless older brother's face and neck.

"Yazoo," he called, his voice shaking more than he would have liked to admit.

"He can't hear you," Sephiroth's voice laughed darkly. "He's entirely my puppet, as you will be, soon."

"Yazoo, I need you to wake up," Loz called, his voice hardening a little. Yazoo was his brother, even if he was obnoxious, and no one got to call him a puppet. Especially not this weird almost-Sephiroth who touched him as though he had a right to. It made Loz want to tear out the bastard's hair and strangle him with it, but he knew what he had to do. Sephiroth couldn't be important in this. Yazoo was the important one, and Loz believed that with all of his soul. Which, when he thought about it, was quite good, because according to Zack, if he'd doubted it, the not-quite-Sephiroth might have stood something of a chance.

"Do you want me to tell you what I've done to him?" Sephiroth purred. "Do you want me to tell you exactly how he screamed and writhed when I finally got Masamune through that damned leather? How he begged me to release him, and offered me your head on a platter if I'd let him go?" Loz almost faltered, but he didn't lift his eyes from Yazoo's empty face, and the slack lips parted in a worryingly blank gape.

"Yazoo, I need you to come back," he called again, ignoring the dark, powerful voice that threatened to overwhelm his own shaken, young tones. He had far too much imagination, and the cut in Yazoo's side had taken on a new horror that threatened to pull his focus. He shoved it aside, and pressed himself onwards, trying to assert to his own mind that Yazoo would respond, that he'd come back for him.

"He's gone," Sephiroth chuckled. "Do you really think to pull him back, little remnant? With cheap pleas and that whining little voice? Face it. Your brother" he all but spat the phrase, and Loz felt his anger spike, "never liked you in the first place, and he is mine now."

"You take it back!" Loz yelled, and even as he did, he knew it was a mistake. When he looked into Sephiroth's eyes, something screamed inside him at the look in them-that look of triumph said all Loz needed to know. Fighting Sephiroth wouldn't get him anywhere. He jerked his gaze back to Yazoo, but Sephiroth had cracked his armor. Loz needed to ignore him, but fury was difficult to push aside for him in the best of times, and this was far from it. He tried to focus on Yazoo, but his brother seemed so far away, across the room, and dead to the world, with his vacant eyes rolled back almost into his head and seeing nothing. Loz swallowed hard, but he could feel Sephiroth reveling in the small triumph, the sound of his soft laughter echoing over the pristine floors.

"Would you like me to tell you how much you can violate someone with only their face to play with?" Sephiroth purred calmly. "Shall I tell you how he cried as I suffocated him? How he groveled for mercy at my hands? How I made him kiss and lick my very boots as he bled onto the floor?"

"Yazoo," called Loz again, but his voice was more than shaken. He could feel tears on his cheeks, and hear the fuzzing of sorrow and rage in between his ears, that so often drew him out of control. Sephiroth rose smoothly, and Yazoo tumbled like no more than a boneless rag-doll onto the floor as the leg he had been folded over on straightened. Sephiroth didn't even bother stepping over him, and Loz shuddered uncontrollably as Sephiroth stepped heavily on his brother's arm, and the other clone didn't so much as twitch. Yazoo's blank face was turned towards Loz, showing fully the tear tracks on his cheeks, and the smears of blood across his chin. Loz whimpered as he felt Sephiroth approaching him, and fought to keep his eyes on Yazoo, feeling the weight of the original's power weighing heavy on him again, choking his breath and weakening his muscles.

"Shall I demonstrate for you?" Sephiroth purred. "Shall I see if your clothing holds as well? Shall I choke you until your lips turn blue and your eyes roll back in that ugly little skull of yours? Shall I let you know the pain your brother felt at my hands? He begged me to take you instead of him, perhaps I should do both, to appease him." Loz inhaled deeply, but not in hurt. It was because the weight had lessened. It took him only a moment to find out why.

"I know you didn't, Yaz," he called past the form trying to block his view of his despised, beloved brother. "I know you wouldn't. You didn't beg him to hurt me instead. You don't have to worry, I don't believe him."

"Impetuous fool," Sephiroth hissed, but his voice sounded less without the resonance of perceived truth behind it. Loz was certain some of what he was saying was truth, but it was only there to make him believe the lies, and he wasn't buying it anymore. Sephiroth could spit and storm all he wanted. Loz wasn't going to let it stop him.

"I know you tried to protect me, and thank you so much, Yaz, because we both know you're older an' stronger. You've protected me a lot, haven't you. 'Daj and me. You don't have to anymore. I'll protect you too, if you let me."

"Why speak to a doll when your doom stands before you!?" howled Sephiroth. Loz ignored him. The real Sephiroth would have stopped bitching and cut his head off ages ago. This less-than-Sephiroth couldn't even touch him, or it would have already. He was stronger than it was.

"I know it hurts, Yaz, but it's time to wake up," Loz said softly, "because it's hard to do this, and I need your help."

"Your brother gives excellent blowjobs," hissed Sephiroth. Loz's eyes widened, and his head swiveled slowly to look at the man. He took in the sensual, smooth curve of his bow lips, and the satisfied glint in his eye, and hated him. "I can only imagine how sweet his ass would be. How good it must have been for the men who found him before you did."

"No," whispered Loz, and he could think of nothing else to say after that. Sephiroth just laughed.

"Did you never ask him what happened? What a horrible, ungrateful little brother you are. Did you not know he was raped? Though, I suppose, above that is the fact that he was murdered."

"No," Loz repeated, but the sound was even quieter. He couldn't quite get the breath to catch in his throat, and Sephiroth was so close, so close, and so tall it was unreal. Big as a building, and still feet away, though he slow, deliberate strides would change that soon.

"Oh yes. He died quite a few times before you 'rescued' him. You really didn't know? Pathetic excuse for a child."

"No, please," Loz sobbed, his words barely more than a wheezed breath of misery. Sephiroth stopped mere inches before him, and Loz realized he must be on his knees, because standing he'd have reached Sephiroth's waist, at least, but he was on level with his thighs, and he couldn't breathe anymore.

"I really," Sephiroth purred as he reached down and placed a hand on Loz's head, the skin burning hot on the boy's scalp, and wringing a whimper from his breathless body, "ought to have destroyed you the moment you were created." Loz stared up at Sephiroth with wide eyes as one hand reared back, and knew he was about to be hurt, and tortured, and that he deserved no less, before suddenly the weight was off of him, and so was Sephiroth. He gasped heavily, his vision dark from lack of air, and looked up in amazement at the willowy form of his previously defeated brother. Loz looked over quickly to see Sephiroth picking himself up off the floor, before a tight hand closed on his wrist, and he looked up once more into the perfectly mismatched, blazing eyes above him.

"Run," Yazoo commanded calmly. Loz barely managed to get to his feet before Yazoo took off, dragging him behind. Sephiroth's roar of outrage shook the walls around them, but Loz didn't let it stop him from dashing after the shimmering hair of his elder brother, struggling to get the leaden feeling out of his legs and keep up with fleet-footed Yazoo. Neither of them stopped to look behind, or to consider where to go next. Yazoo seemed to lead unerringly, and for once in his life, Loz was happy to follow. In fact, he was all but flying, now that they were out of that dreaded room, and he realized that Yazoo was touching him, without a hint of fear or hatred. If it would have kept that contact, Loz would have kept running behind his older brother forever.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Lungs on fire, he ran on. The blood was sticky where it soaked his side and streaked down his leg, making the leather covering the bloody skin pull uncomfortably with every step. He didn't let it slow him. Loz had stopped dragging his feet, and ran along gamely behind him, but he didn't dare drop the grip on his wrist. That was his anchor. He'd been utterly shut up in his own mind, hiding from the memories and the pain, though he'd promised himself he would endure it to keep Sephiroth busy. In the end, he had failed even in that, and had lost himself. It was a strange thing, to be so far gone you weren't thinking of anything-not of the patterns on the floor, or the pain you were in, or what you remembered. Nothing. for that period of time, in Yazoo's memory, it was as though he hadn't existed. He reveled in the ragged gasps of breath prying themselves from between his bruised lips, and flew on.

It had been his name he first registered. Sephiroth didn't call him by name. He called him a nothing. A puppet. He almost missed a step, stumbled, and pulled Loz off balance too, but regained himself before either of them fell and took off to the left, driven by the darkness behind them and pulling his little brother behind. His heart was thunder in his ears, and the change between how alive he felt in that moment, and how dead to the world he had been was mind-blowing, and it made him a little recklessly giddy with the joy of freedom from his own mind.

If not for the pain in his side, he might even have felt good. As it was, the clinging warmth of drying blood on his side was an obnoxious and painful reminder of his injury. He wasn't certain if he should be releived that the wound didn't seem to be bleeding as much now, or worried. He couldn't think very clearly, and he was starting to slow despite himself. He stumbled on the next step, and braced himself to fall face first on the ground, but the impact was quite different from what he expected. His knees screamed when they slammed into the floor, but before he could fall forwards, a small body caught up to him and braced him. Yazoo slumped against the little shoulder before him, and breathed his brother's name, like a strange sort of prayer. It was, he supposed. This wasn't just Loz, his little brother. It was Loz, who saved him, who came for him. The wrist he was holding twisted until Loz was holding his arm in return.

"We gotta get somewhere safe," Loz's voice murmured in his ear. His voice sounded muted strange, and distorted, and dim over the heavy rushing sound filling the room, but Yazoo nodded and forced himself to his feet with a dizzy sway, before starting on again. He knew there was a room ahead Sephiroth wouldn't look in. He didn't know how he knew, but it was there, in his mind, and he was so tired-too tired to question the foreign memory. Loz supported him at his side, giving him an arm to lean on while he walked, and Yazoo tried to use it as little as possible, and still made the younger boy stumble with his weight. The energy of freedom seemed to have deserted him. He forced his body onwards with heavy, graceless steps, and wished whatever machinery was screaming in his ears would stop.

Loz kept hold of him as they staggered onwards. He never complained, and never wavered, though Yazoo knew he must have been leaning too heavily his younger brother. Even if Loz had been in a complaining mood, it was doubtful his elder brother would have noticed. He couldn't hear much of anything over his own ragged breathing, the thunder of his heart, and the ever-loudening roar of what lay beneath the mansion. When he saw the door, which he knew they should go inside without knowing why they should go inside, he pulled Loz lightly to indicate it, and almost toppled them both with the motion. The smaller boy pulled him back upright, and Yazoo had to lean heavily on Loz's shoulders as the younger half-towed him over to the doorway he was aiming for and fumbling with the knob. Yazoo tried to steady himself and pushed off Loz's shoulder to lean on the wall to give the boy the freedom to manuver without a the burden of Yazoo's weight.

He closed his eyes as he hovered in his own mind, letting the roar of machines drive his consciousness slowly away, and his stomach sank in realization. It wasn't for himself that he was worried or afraid, but for Loz. His heart hammered onwards in almost painful staccato, and he strained to try and hear the sound of Loz fighting with the doorknob. A sharp crash jerked him out of his reverie, and he turned to find that his brother had gotten tired with the locked door and simply kicked it in. He supposed he ought to have been upset at that, but it only made him smile a little, wearily. He must have been delusional, he supposed, but the rather satisfied look Loz was giving the door filled his chest with a warmth that seemed completely unfamiliar to him, though he'd felt it once or twice before. It bothered him that he couldn't remember when he'd felt it, but the moment he started to think about it, he saw Loz's lips move, though he heard nothing but the roar in his ears. He blinked slowly, and shook his head a little.

"What?" he rasped, and he was startled by now quiet his voice seemed under the roar. Surely there couldn't be any machinery so loud down here. He swallowed hard as he wondered if it was just in his own ears. Loz frowned, his small face scrunching up a little, and held out both his small hands.

"Are we going in?" he repeated, his young voice still buried under layers of noise, but audible this time, with Yazoo focusing once more. He swallowed hard, feeling ill at the idea of touching the boy all of a sudden, though before it had felt very natural, but when he tried to take a step unaided it nearly ended up with him flat on his face on the floor. Once more, Loz caught him before he could land, though this time not even his knees hit. He tried to stand and help, but instead just sagged against the smaller boy, breathing heavily against his neck. He felt the small arms wrap around his back, and forced himself not to fight as Loz dragged him through the recently broken doorway. The boy's breathing was heavy where it ruffled Yazoo's hair, and his little hands shook where they gripped his back as he pulled him. A rush of protectiveness once again swept through Yazoo, though this time it made him hold still rather than attack.

He had given in to Sephiroth before Loz came for him. Even as Mrs. Strife, in her absence, had continued to fight for him, he had given in. He'd let himself be used, and stopped fighting. He'd surrendered under Masamune's blade and Sephrioth's unremitting cruelty. If not for his clothes, he'd have been murdered ten times over. As it was, Sephiroth hadn't quite carried through on the threat of cutting his head off. Yazoo was relatively certain that wouldn't be so easy to heal as the other deaths he had experienced.

He shuddered fiercely, and a soft sound escaped him. As he froze in surprise at the sickened, miserable noise, having never really heard it's like from his own lips, Loz lowered him to the floor carefully. Yazoo fixed his gaze on the boy the instant he had more to look at than the black leather of his shoulder guards, and felt a small, helpless smile twist his lips a little. Loz was crying, as usual, but he had a grim, sturdy set to his mouth. He looked too pale, though, and strangely smaller than he should. Yazoo tried not to shiver again as he was lowered with intense care to the ground. Loz's hand even slid up his back to cup the back of his neck so that he wouldn't bang his head against the hard floor. Yazoo stared up at him out of dazed eyes, and felt the cold floor under him as though from a great distance. He was gasping for breath, and he realized the floor wasn't vibrating. There was no heavy machinery active in the room. The roar in his ears was coming from inside. He snapped back to reality when a cool hand pressed to his cheek, and he flicked his eyes back up to Loz, wondering when his gaze had unfocused and drifted away.

"I'll be right back," Loz said firmly, his hand stroking Yazoo's skin carefully. It was startling how little Yazoo found himself drawing away from that familiar, invasive touch. He should have felt more tainted than ever, but something was off, and he could tell. Something was wrong with what he'd just experienced. As though it had only barely happened, despite the immense pain still charging through his body from his abdomen, and the lingering taste of salt and sickness in his mouth. Not that the wrongness mattered. He was dying once more. He recognized the feeling, after so much experience. He'd bled to death once before, though never with this edge of disaster, and certainly never in front of his brother. Another hand on his shoulder shook him a little, and he made his eyes focus on his brother again.

"Yazoo?" the boy called, and Yazoo wanted, for a brief, strange moment, to hold him. Instead he nodded understanding, and would have spoken if he could catch his breath to do so. Loz frowned, but nodded and pulled away, moving back, presumably, to close the door. Yazoo tilted his head back and closed his eyes, feeling the pull in his throat, and the blood sluggishly pumping out of his side, as though it were still part of him. For a moment, the pain arching through him was blinding, without the anchor of Loz's cool touch. He grimaced, and held in another sob, despising the way the sound tried to crawl from his throat. He squirmed a little, trying without success to find some way of lying where he wouldn't still feel Masamune in his side. There was no describing the way the sword burned where it cut. The way the pain crawled through the skin surrounding the mark like an infection.

Yazoo clenched his eyes shut, and retreated. In his mind, the shadow of memory rose again and a turn, and then another turn, and there was the room, door opening before him, as though calling him in, though he could tell he was not himself. Stepping inside, he could still feel the wound in his chest made by his best friend's blade when the damnable blonde cadet had shoved it through his chest, and the burns across his flesh from where the raw mako had ripped him to pieces at his death. When he walked inside, there was a table before him, and something told him to go, and rest. He lay down carefully, and his eyes closed, but when they opened again, he was chained, and someones hand grabbed his chin.

Though he struggled, silent and furious, still filled with mother's rage after the destruction of Nibelheim, the slender fingers of a stranger's hand clamped down on his jaw. He snapped his eyes open to look and saw twisted darkness, in a parody of human form, with eyes that glowed red, and a mockery of feminine beauty. The fingers on his jaw found the joint, and clenched, forcing his mouth open, and his eyes darted down. A second hand slid over his parted lips, and the softest whisper of fear streaked through him. Surely not. Surely not.

Fingers slipped inside, and he fought to bite down on the intrusion. And then his mouth was filled with blood, and he was screaming. The scream wasn't just pain. It was disgust, and terror, inspired by the fact that his tongue had been torn off by another's bare hand. (Let this be a dream, and let Loz be reality, Yazoo prayed to no one in the piece of him that was still Yazoo, and still aware) His eyes whipped open in time to watch his own bloody, severed tongue slip between the ugly blackened lips of the thing. His stomach lurched in utter disgust, and he closed his eyes to the sight, only to find he couldn't breathe.

When he managed to get his eyes open again, the black thing was Sephiroth, with a confident smile, and he was still screaming, because the infection was arching through him, every borrowed alien cell screaming as a pair of eyes exactly like his own smiled wickedly down at him through vertical pupils. A dream, he thought and remembered at once, but no dream had fingers strong enough to rip the tongue from his mouth and leave him choking on his own blood, or fingers strong enough to dislocate his jaw, leaving him gaping like a fool, struggling for breath through the liquid spilling from his ruined, un-healing flesh. He turned his head, trying to find some way to breathe, but the other him was that way, and the dark laugh that rippled from his other self chilled him to the bone. No dream could have fingers that cold, or that efficient as they unbuckled the coat straps crossing his chest, and yanked it off of him, the leather pulling through his very skin, against all physics and possibility. And it hurt.

Then the wrong Sephiroth pulled the coat on, as own his vision started to blacken and fade. The moment the blackness of the leather hung over previously bare shoulders, the fingers returned, and slid down his muscled torso, too firm, too confident, and still covered in his own blood. His pants were yanked off next, once more through his flesh, and as he choked to death, he heard the cruelest laugh yet echo as he was left stripped bare, with another him, blood still on its lips.

"Your flesh tastes sweet, my own," The clothed, empowered and bloody-mouthd Sephiroth praised in his stolen voice. He died there, choking on blood, and it didn't end. He revived with the other him hovering over him, laughing, and he tried to snap at him, tried to fight back, but his jaw was unhinged, and his mouth felt terrifyingly empty. No tongue. No speech.

"And now," Sephiroth purred, "You will pay for not finishing him." The invasion was unexpected, and though he had felt many things in his life, nothing prepared him for the feeling, like being split in half from below, and before he could stop himself, he was screaming again, as Sephiroth laughed above him, with bliss in his eyes, and a smile on his blood-stained lips.

"Yazoo?" said a soft voice, and like the memory, Yazoo screamed, and curled away from the touch, hands fisting, as though still chained, before the pain in his side from the movement brought him back to himself, gasping and sobbing. Loz was holding his face in careful hands, and crying. Yazoo felt himself settle back into his own mind, and the strange calm that had raced through him at Loz's touch before returned, curling in his chest with something like contentment. His hands relaxed, and he reveled in the feel of the leather sticking to his blood, as a reminder of what Sephiroth had been unable to do to him, thanks to the interference of a woman who despised him.

Apparently satisfied, Loz settled at his side, stroking his hair gently with his small fingers, and Yazoo didn't chastise him for the touch. It felt good, after having his scalp so abused by the man whose preferred method of transporting him was dragging him by the hair. The boy kept the contact steady, and careful, his other hand resting on Yazoo's shoulder gently. The elder boy relaxed into the touch, and felt the breath entering his chest and leaving him once more, less desperately, as he calmed. It was strange, but it felt easier to breathe now than it had in Mrs. Strife's house, despite the added abuse.

"Yaz," Loz said softly, and Yazoo could hear him this time, through the ringing still filling his ears, but no longer so intense, "I need to take a look at the place he hurt you. Can I open your jacket?" Yazoo stiffened for a moment, and his breath snagged for half an instant, before he let it out in a wearied puff, unable to remain tense enough to really hold it, as exhaustion caught up with him, refusing to allow him the dignity of holding his breath to express his tension. The small hand steadily smoothing through his hair didn't even pause, and the other stayed utterly still in place. Yazoo cut his gaze over to his brother's face, and met his gaze. the wide green eyes were traumatized, and they kept flickering down to his mouth, but they were focused on him, and in no way hungry.

The lithe, wounded reminant hesitated a moment longer, until he was satisfied that Loz wouldn't do anything without his permission. Despite the fact that he only meant well, it was that he wouldn't without Yazoo's go-ahead that made up his mind. He closed his eyes, letting the calming feeling of his brother's careful touch soothe him for a moment, before nodding his assent. He might have been able to talk, but his mind was still captured by what must have been a fever dream, of being torn to pieces by a monster turning itself into Sephiroth, and he didn't trust himself to use the flesh he could barely feel, as his whole body went numb.

Loz's careful hands instantly left his hair and shoulder, and returned to fumble at the zipper pulled up to his neck. Unlike when Sephiroth touched the leather, there was no resistance when Loz tugged the leather apart carefully, baring Yazoo's chest to the cold air, and he couldn't help glance down to have a peek. The blood spread up from the wound in all directions, after being smeared by Sephiroth's rough treatment, and having bled upside down when he had been tossed onto the stairs leading to Sephiroth's tall chair, head down, like yesterday's garbage while Sephiroth ground his heel into the wound to aggravate it. He was brought out of his musing when Loz pressed a cloth to the still-bleeding injury, and sent a fresh spike of pain screaming through him, pulling a brief shout from him before he clamped his mouth shut, gritting back the yell of agony pulling through him.

"Sorry," Loz muttered, one of his hands patting Yazoo's still-covered arm lightly in apology before it started to clean a little of the blood from around the wound. Yazoo took a deep, shaking breath, and squeezed out an answer.

"S-s-s'okay," he whispered in a broken voice. Loz didn't comment on it, but he did shoot him a small, grateful smile. Yazoo fell silent, but he kept his eyes on his little brother as the younger boy focused on cleaning up and bandaging the wound. He glanced to the book bag on the ground at the boy's side, and smiled ever so slightly at his foresight, to bring the medical kit along. Having Loz tend the wound in his sidet made it strangely more bearable. It hurt more than any sword wound he had ever received, but the arching pain was no longer shooting through his stomach into his spine and twitching through him. It had died down to be more like a normal blade's injury. Unpleasant, but bearable. Loz made a soft noise of disgust and worry as he worked, his small hands surprisingly steady, despite the obvious distress on his face.

It was almost nice, to be sitting there with his little brother cleaning the blood off his pale, abused flesh, and it took him a good long while to realize that something had changed. Though the blossoming red on his side certainly wasn't attractive, the ugly bruises were gone from his ribs and chest, and the bones seemed to have pulled themselves back into something like their proper place, leaving his ribs still crooked, but not near so bad as they had been. A small smile quirked his lips again as Loz wormed the bandage around and under his back, trying to manage it without making his elder brother sit up. Yazoo arched as much as possible to accommodate the bandage, and winced, but managed to give Loz enough clearance to wrap his torso a few times before carefully taping the bandage down. Then the boy carefully lined his zipper back up with trembling hands, trying three times before managing to zip his coat up again. Yazoo raised a hand to stop him before he brought it all the way to a close, leaving the front of his neck bare. It made it easier to breathe.

Silence fell for a moment, and Yazoo closed his eyes again for a moment. When he opened them, it was to find Loz staring down at him with tear-filled eyes and a thoroughly distraught look on his face. His little hands were almost automatically rubbing against each other in trembling, unsteady motions as though trying to get rid of the blood on them, though they only managed to smear it. Yazoo's fastidious side made his nose wrinkle just a little, and he inhaled, feeling the breath consider catching in his lungs and send him into a coughing fit, and holding it off.

"Get a rag," he instructed in a reedy voice that shook uncontrollably. Only after Loz winced did he consider that perhaps something kinder might have been in order after such an ordeal. He had no idea what had transpired before he came to to find his brother on his knees and Sephiroth about to strike him down, but it couldn't have been pleasant. Before his wearied mind could come up with anything, Loz had followed his instruction and fished another rag out of the pack to wipe his hands off, still trembling. They were inevitably stained pink, without the availability of water to wash them clean. He looked no less shaken, and Yazoo frowned to himself. He found it hard to read Loz. He couldn't very well fix whatever damage Sephiroth had done to him, but a niggling feeling in the back of his head told him that wasn't what was wrong.

"Are you-" Loz began, but he choked on the words, head bowing and hands fisting where they rested in his lap. Yazoo frowned a little as he watched the younger boy shake his head. It made him rather hard to focus on, since Yazoo's working eye was as exhausted as the rest of him, but even blurry, he could tell the kid had started to cry once again. "Of course you're not... of course... I'm sorry," he choked out, his shoulders starting to tremble. His words cut off into muffled sobs, and Yazoo, quite suddenly, felt a pang in his chest that had nothing to do with the injury to his side, or the beating he had taken.

"Loz," he slurred, even as it seemed to be getting progressively harder to hold his eyes open. The young boy hesitated a moment before lifting his head enough to look at him again. Yazoo could tell his eyes were reddening from the tears spilling down his cheeks, and his lip was trembling slightly with the effort to keep himself from cracking once more. Yazoo couldn't get it. He was missing something. With a deep breath, he forced himself to try and picture all of this from Loz's side.

The moment he made the decision, it struck him what seemed wrong about it all. Loz had gained nothing from coming to this mansion. He knew better. They'd been warned not to, in fact, and there was no doubt the boy could feel Sephiroth's suffocating aura, but there he sat, at Yazoo's side, with red splotches in his pale cheeks as misery ate him up from within. The simplest answer to the curiosity suddenly filling the weary reminant best suited Yazoo's exhausted mind, so he bit back his pride and asked.

"Why did you come, Loz," he murmured in a voice more fragile than he thought it would be. His words trembled weakly in his throat. He felt horribly impotent, even with the spiking pain in his side fading away rapidly. In fact, the receding pain almost made it worse. The last time something had hurt so badly only to halt abruptly was the last time he had been killed. The boy sniffled again, and his brows furrowed.

"Y-y-y-" his brother stuttered miserably, and Yazoo couldn't help the small smile that twitched his lips at the inelloquence. It was almost refreshing, after Sephiroth's calm assertion of... well, of everything.

"Spit it out, Loz," he said, his voice accidentally soft. If he'd been feeling more like himself, he was certain he would have snapped the words, but the weariness eating him up from within prevented him from doing so. Instead the words came out almost gently. At least he had the excuse of being tired if Loz brought it up again, but Yazoo was very seldom anything but truthful with himself, and to be honest he hadn't really been frustrated. He was more worried that he wouldn't be able to stay awake long enough to hear the answer if poor Loz kept stuttering. The younger clone didn't scowl or snap like he normally would, but he took a deep breath, even as Yazoo watched another tear slip down his reddened cheek, and his clumped, wet eyelashes slide down as he blinked once, briefly covering vibrant green, bloodsot eyes. His voice was still shuddering when he tried to speak again, but he kept his words clear and carefully spoken.

"You were in trouble," Loz muttered, his eyes downcast and the splotchy redness on his cheeks starting to even out a little under a blush. "An' don' lie. You were in trouble, an' he was gunna kill you, an' you did it for me. I couldn't... couldn't... leave you..." He almost seemed to run out of steam on the last words, his shoulders hunching further up and his head bowing until his face was all but obscured.

"Obviously I shouldn't have worried," Yazoo forced himself to murmur calmly, trying to keep any bitterness or jealousy out of his voice. "You seem to have handled him quite well by yourself.

"No, that ain't right," Loz insisted, shaking his head quickly. "I'd have... if you hadn't stopped him when he first showed up then I would have-he would have killed me. I couldn't even breathe. It was horrible. But...But after you gave me a chance to rest, it was better. An' I had help. It wasn' just me."

"You're a little old for an i-imaginary friend, aren't you," Yazoo managed to breathe dryly, his voice only breaking for a moment in the words, and his tone carefully amused, in an effort to cheer Loz a little. It was strange to see the boy so despondent, when before he had always been at least energetic, if not cheerful. The only time he could remember seeing Loz so quiet was when he had been wounded. He forced back the sudden impulse to drag himself up off the floor and check to make sure his brother was not sick again.

"It wasn' imaginary," Loz muttered, but without inflection or energy. His head remained lowered, and Yazoo couldn't see his face well enough to judge what his expression was like. It couldn't have been anything but a frown, from the inflection in his voice. He sounded pained, and empty, and afraid. It was tragic, and strange, and the most visceral parts of Yazoo objected strenuously to the sound. Loz was not supposed to seem so hurt and unhappy. It went against his nature. Yazoo forced back his automatic sarcastic incredulity and took a deep breath, hearing a faint rattle in his lungs, but managing to keep the breath somewhat even.

"Who helped you," he asked his brother, and Loz, rather than smiling or being happy that his brother asked, only turned his head a little to the side, as though ashamed, and shook his head. Yazoo licked his lips, certain that, somehow, this darkness in his brother was his fault. How long had he been out? Surely Sephiroth hadn't carried through on his viciously made promise to violate Yazoo's beloved little brother when he found him. The very memory made Yazoo want to spit, despite the fact that he couldn't even taste the man in his mouth through the blood now. He held the impulse back, and tried to force the thought away. Sephiroth couldn't possibly have had time to do that. He knew he had come out of his fugue like state when Loz needed him. He swallowed heavily, because he suddenly had a vague inclination of what he should have done some time ago.

"Thank you," he whispered dryly, though his voice almost gave out halfway through the rarely spoken words. The rushing was back in his ears, but it felt different. He had a killer headache, but it didn't really feel killer persay. Just painful. There was something behind it all he still wasn't picking up on. But the way Loz's head snapped up again, mouth hanging open, served to bolster his spirits a little. It was funny to see such a stunned look on the boy's face. And Yazoo was honestly grateful, even if it felt entirely unnatural to say it out loud. Though once he'd started he found he couldn't stop.

"You're out of your mind, but thank you. This is the second time you've-" he broke off only because of the stricken look on his brother's face. Little silver brows twisted upwards over pained green eyes, and the corners of his mouth turned down in a miserable scowl too old for his young face. Yazoo felt his own brows twitch upwards in concern for his brother, though the expression only just made its way through the fog slowly covering Yazoo's thoughts. He swallowed hard, sitting in silence for a moment, staring at his little brother's utter misery.

"Loz, what-" he started, but the younger interrupted him by bursting into tears, one of his slim, childish hands rising to clamp over his own mouth in an attempt to quiet himself, bowing his head again and shivering hard in misery, his free arm curling around his middle, as though trying to hold himself together. Yazoo gaped at him for a moment before lifting a weary, trembling hand to him. "Loz?"

"Don't!" the boy cried from behind his hand, the word muffled, but the command clear. Yazoo froze, his old fear arising again. Had Loz finally felt the taint on him? Was he finally as disgusted by him as he always should have been? The acidic smell of blood in the room increased, and Yazoo stared in horror at his little brother as he honestly bit his own hand to muffle the helpless sobs pulling from him. It was that, more than the weariness, blood loss, and poor judgment that made Yazoo act. No one hurt his brother, and that included Loz himself.

He forced himself up onto one elbow, ignoring the way his body seemed to be threatening to give out at any moment under protest of the treatment, and wrapped his hand around the back of Loz's neck carefully in comfort, wishing he were strong enough to do something more worthwhile. The reaction to his touch was instantaneous, and for a moment he feared he had been right, as Loz's head jerked up as though in utter surprise, and his sorrow-ridden eyes went cold for a moment for a moment. Then the kid opened his mouth again.

"What are you doing? Lie back down, idiot! You're going to h-hurt yourself w-worse!" his younger brother stuttered, his hands automatically going to Yazoo's chest and pushing lightly to try and emphasis the point. Yazoo braced himself for the pain of the touch, and found none. It took him a moment to comprehend that, and then he steeled himself, and took a plunge, throwing the length of his arm around his younger brother's back, and dragging the boy down to the ground beside him, smiling a little at the smaller clone's yelp despite himself. Loz didn't struggle, but he did go stiff for a moment before whispering.

"You don't like being touched," as though worried that Yazoo had forgotten. The elder brother's smile faltered. The boy actually sounded afraid, and he couldn't tell whether that fear was of him or for him. It was a vast and worrisome difference.

"If-" he said carefully, and he felt Loz hold his breath when he started talking, to make sure he could hear the words. In that moment, for the first time in his existence, Yazoo truly felt like his opinion mattered. Like what he said in that moment would change everything. He took a deep breath, and made his choice.

"If it's you, it's okay," he assured, hoping that the fear would leave his brother, and it wouldn't turn out that he had guessed what Loz feared wrong. Loz was silent for a while longer before he reacted, but the reaction, when it came, certainly wasn't what Yazoo had feared. The boy shifted, just a little, and then Yazoo found himself wrapped in a hug from his young brother, whose arms only just managed to wrap all the way around his chest. Yazoo took only a moment to wonder how Loz had managed to get that arm under his back before the faint smile slid over his face again and he slid his free hand over to brush his brother's hair lightly as the other rested on the child's muscular back, thinking of a time when he couldn't let his brother touch him for comfort att all, and wondering how much he had missed by fearing. He knew now there was nothing to fear. Someone like him, someone as weak as him, could never corrupt the purity that had let Loz stand up to Sephiroth himself.

They lay together like that for a long time, Yazoo somewhat stiff, and inevitably thinking of the difference between Loz's careful, warm hold, and the way Kadaj had curled up in his arms without reciprocating, taking comfort without trying to give. It didn't make him love his tenshi any less, and, in fact, he missed him a great deal in that moment of weakness, with Loz nuzzling against his chest carefully, his tears dampening the leather there, and his sniffles an unattractive but undeniably human sound in the air. No, he didn't love Kadaj any less for never attempting to give him any comfort. He had never opened himself to the little angel enough for Kadaj to know he needed comforting, and he wouldn't change that for the world. Kadaj had needed the stability Yazoo's coldness could provide, but Loz needed something different, and if what he wanted was to give Yazoo some comfort, or at least attempt to, then Yazoo could deal with it. At least sometimes.

Loz was the first to break the silence, in a small squeaking voice, that sounded like a rusty, if young, gate cracking open. Yazoo automatically gave his back a little pat of comfort at the sound of it.

"I-i-is it true?" Loz asked softly. Yazoo shook his head a little, trying to remember if there had been any lead up to that topic of conversation, and came up blank.

"Is what true, little Loz?" he asked softly, his voice a little smoother, though still cracked at the edges, the endearment automatic. He felt Loz's fingers curl in his leather coat at the term of affection, and could smell the soft pleasure that he felt at it. But when the boy lifted his head to gaze up into Yazoo's eyes, his chin digging into Yazoo's sternum a bit, it was with purely miserable eyes.

"Wh-what...What he said. About what h-happened to you..." Yazoo felt his heart freeze in his chest for a moment, and swallowed hard, answering truthfully.

"I didn't hear what he said, Loz." he said softly, resuming the gentle petting of his young brother's short hair. But he knew that wouldn't satisfy the boy's curiosity, and he wasn't sure he could handle the questions, with sleep tugging at his mind like a tide, so he took a deep breath, and tried to answer with something the child would accept, without hurting him further.

"A lot... of things have happened since we came here," he started, letting himself concentrate more on the smooth texture of the somewhat sweaty hair under his fingers rather than the words coming out of his mouth, which was so recently a tool for his pleasure, and which a piece of his mind was insisting should not be anywhere near his innocent little brother. He continued anyway, insisting to his mind that Loz must be immune-that he hadn't changed since touch started being allowable. That he hadn't been hurt when Yazoo tried to save him, on that mountainside. He kept talking before the self-loathing could stop him once again from saying what ought to be said. He took a deep breath.

"A lot has happened. But Loz, the important thing-the only thing that matters is right here." He tightened his weak hold on his brother for a moment, emphasizing the connection between them. "We're together, and we're going to find Kadaj, and be a family again. Nothing but that matters."

"Your wrong," Loz argued against his chest. "You've gotten hurt so bad, an'... an' he said you got killed, an' that he did... They did things to you, an'-It's not okay! You're not alright!" Yazoo felt his face heat up in utterly ridiculous embarrassment. He knew very well he ought to have felt horrible, or suffered a flashback, but he only flushed, and felt his heart speed up, aching softly in his chest, not for himself, but for Loz's distress. He unwrapped his hand from the silky strands of his brother's hair, tugging on one of the small arms wrapped around his ribs until Loz let him move it. Then he carefully took the small hand and touched it to his bare neck, fighting back the nausea and fear the intimate touch lifted in him.

"Does that pulse tell you I am dead?" he asked, not denying the truth of the statements, but trying to reassure the boy anyway, and finding himself reassured as well. It was strange, but he felt stronger than he had a moment ago, instead of weaker. Maybe Loz hadn't been too late after all. Maybe he wouldn't have to die this time. Loz's fingers twitched against his skin, and he felt the small pads of his fingertips press lightly against his pulse, and forced himself not to flinch, knowing Loz would feel it, as close as he was laying. The head resting against his chest turned, until the boy's ear was pressed against his chest, and then the smaller clone seemed to go limp with a great rush of breath, and the little hand wriggled out of his grasp and away from his neck to wrap around him again, squeezing once, tightly, before remembering to be gentle and releasing the grip.

"No," said Loz softly, "you feel alive, Yaz." The words came out choked, and Loz's back started to shake again, but Yazoo understood this time without trying, and smiled a sad smile as he went back to stroking Loz's hair in comfort. Sometimes, he found it easy to forget that they weren't alive anymore, and he guessed that Loz felt the same, judging by the boy's reaction.

"It's going to be okay, Loz," Yazoo asserted softly, though immediately after the words he broke into a jaw-popping yawn, wincing as his mouth opened wide to emit the long breath. The little body against him shuddered again, but this time to emit a soft giggle of laughter. Yazoo smiled sleepily, arching his back a little. "Best move your arm. I'm going to sleep, and I don't want your arm falling off under me." Loz made a disgusted little noise of half-delight, taking childish glee in the macabre phrasing. But he did slide his arm out from under Yazoo. The lanky boy instantly lay back again, closing his eyes, and didn't complain when the younger shifted, rearranging until one of his his arms rested straight across his chest, hand laying over his heartbeat, while the other reached up to tangle in Yazoo's long, messy hair.

"You'll wake up?" Loz asked quietly, the humor gone from his voice and replaced once more by worry. For a long moment, Yazoo looked up at the ceiling which was at once familiar and completely unknown to him, and felt the air in his lungs, and the way his side ached and stung with every breath-the way his heart beat seemed to press affectionately against Loz's hand as his chest rose and fell steadily. His head ached, sleep pulled at his consciousness, and his blind eye still burned with tears. Yazoo had died before. He smiled a little as he looked up at the stark ceiling of the mansion.

"Yes, Loz," he said softly, his voice only a little slurred with weariness. "I'll wake up." Loz nodded once against his side, accepting the words without argument.

"Are we safe?" the boy asked with a little more vigor, paranoia in his voice and his fingers curling on Yazoo's chest.

"Mmm," hummed Yazoo in agreement. "He won't come here. He thinks we won't." Loz shifted, and Yazoo guessed he had lifted his head to look at him, but he was too tired to look back, letting his eyes fall closed, and briefly bemoaning the fact that in the morning they would be glued together with the still fresh tears currently on his eyelashes.

"How do you know?" the boy asked again, his voice seeming distant and far off.

"I jus' know," Yazoo mumbled, shifting himself to ease a little of the strain on his wounded side, and finding three new bruises in the process, smiling a little at the pain that was such a wonderful reminder of the fact that he was not yet dead. "Sleep, Loz."

The boy might have said something else, but speaking the word 'sleep' aloud seemed to have done it for Yazoo. He slid back into rest, feeling the warmth of a smaller body curled protectively against him, and found that Loz might have been small, and they might not have been the best of friends, but his presence was still more powerful than Sephiroth's memories, or the remembrance of the earlier traumas. For the first time since he died, Yazoo slept without a murmur of Sephiroth in his mind.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Loz woke up warm, but with a crick in his neck, and a creeping stiffness in his side. The hard ground under him was a far cry from the soft sofa he'd stayed on in Mrs. Strife's house, and not even as comfortable as falling asleep on Zack's lap. One of the Soldier's sword-harness straps kept digging into Loz's cheek while he slept, but the feel of the arms wrapped protectively around him had more than made up for it. He wiggled around a little, making the body next to him grunt and shift its weight, until he could see his brother's face.

Yazoo looked young when he slept. His face was the picture of symmetrical beauty with his imperfect eye hidden, but Loz found himself faintly missing the pale unseeing orb. It had become something of a familiar sight of late, and he had come to associate it with this new, softer Yazoo, who he sometimes even managed to get along with. He was content to stay where he was for a while, though now that he was awake enough to be aware of the crick in his neck and the uncomfortable nature of his position, he found it much more difficult to lay still. He held back the instinct that made him want to wake Yazoo up, and wriggled out from under his arms. He was suddenly made aware of the fact that he was ravenously hungry. Even as his stomach rumbled, he took a moment to look Yazoo over, and was immeasurably pleased that his brother seemed better, his breathing more even and his color more usual, instead of so translucent he could see veins under his skin.

He carefully touched the edges of his brother's bangs, brushing them out of his face, now that he was sitting up, free of the affectionate but somewhat restrictive hold. Yazoo's eyes flickered open for a moment before he closed them again, giving a low grumble and shifting. Loz couldn't help but grin as his brother turned slightly away from him with a faint frown pulling at his lips. He wasn't groaning, or in extreme pain, like he had been only a few hours ago, and he wasn't unresponsive and half-dead like he had been when Loz first found him, so the little remnant was chalking this up as a win for them both.  
"Loz," grumbled Yazoo, "go back to sleep." His voice was muffled, from where he'd buried his face in his arm, but his grumpiness warmed Loz's heart a little. Yazoo being nice, as he had been the night before, was a welcome change, but it was good to have him back to something more normal.

"I'm not tired anymore," he corrected calmly. Yazoo growled softly and slanted a glance up at him, though since it was with his blind eye, Loz was pretty sure it hadn't helped him see. He grinned wider when Yazoo gave up rather than put in the effort to turn his head.

"Fine," his brother muttered sullenly. "I'm going back to sleep. You stay here, and don't. Touch. Anything." Loz snickered, and the blind eye swiveled up to glare at him again, gaze narrowed, though blank. "I mean it, Loz. No touching anything." His voice was grim enough that Loz sighed in defeat. It wouldn't do to get in a fight so soon after Yazoo'd been hurt. He was, secretly, still worried his brother would go back inside his head and ignore him again if he did, and he wasn't willing to risk it.

"Alright, alright, I promise, now go back to sleep," he grumbled, pouting slightly and sticking his tongue out at his brother's blind eye.

"I can hear you sticking your tongue out," Yazoo muttered, but even as he said it his eyes were drifting closed again and his mouth was softening. Loz obediently put his tongue back in his mouth, scowling down at his brother a moment longer until Yazoo fell asleep once more. Then the scowl softened and he looked his older brother over carefully. The hole in his leather jacket that showed his injured side and the bandages around it proved that he hadn't quite bled through them, which was definitely a good sign. Loz knew he'd need to change them soon, but hopefully it could wait until Yazoo was back on his feet. For the moment, he stood up and stretched the kinks out of his back, bending backwards until he almost lost his balance. Then he wandered over to the pack he had carried along with him the day before and pulled out a granola bar to munch on. He had it halfway to his mouth before he started shivering.

He avoided dropping back to the ground only by virtue of the wall right next to him, which he leaned heavily on. The snack fell out of his numb hand, and he didn't even consider catching it. He was shuddering almost violently now. Gaia, it had been too close. So close. Despite everything he was fighting for, and Zack's help, and the danger Yazoo was in, he hadn't been able to hold it together. And last night-he swallowed hard, trying not to get sick at the thought-last night Yazoo had almost admitted that Sephiroth hadn't been lying about what had happened to him. Loz shuddered as the memory of his brother, his leathers hanging shredded about him, covered in dust, and half-dressed, with bruises on his neck, and a boot pressing against his face. Had he really died there, in the dirt, before Loz had come? He didn't know how it was possible, because Yazoo was still here, but then, even Zack hadn't know what would happen to someone if they died here. Maybe that was why Yazoo hadn't been able to fix himself right.

He really needed to calm down. His vision was greying at the edges while he hyperventilated too heavily to actually get any oxygen to his brain. It was just too much. How could so much have happened without him ever being aware? How could Yazoo not have told him? Though, of course, that shouldn't have been surprising. Yazoo never told him anything at all, especially not about himself. Abruptly, Loz pulled away and moved stiffly away from his brother's limp form, forcing his breaths to come smoothly, and be free of the whimpers trying to escape him. He almost instantly banged into the corner of an extremely hard metal table and bit back and exclamation of pain. He scowled as he looked down at the thing, flash-point temper flaring, but paused when he got a look at it.

It was weird, and it was a really great distraction, and anything that got his mind of Yazoo right now was welcome. He took a half step back and crossed his arms, running his eyes over the table. It was high off the ground-nearly at Loz's chest, though he knew that was not as tall as it once had been. He barely came up to Yazoo's sternum. Still, it was taller than a normal bed. And it certainly didn't look comfortable. The metal looked cold, and shone only dimly on the rusted metal. Four heavy metal loops stuck up from the bed, and Loz poked the one closest to him. There was a crackled, dry substance on it, and he wrinkled his nose when he realized it was blood. He looked the table over again, and spotted a few more dried lakes of the stuff on the dully-shining surface, so old it was an almost unrecognizable stain. He grinned in grossed-out delight, even as his nostrils flared and his nose scrunched up.

"Eeeeewwww," he proclaimed to himself, poking at the bloodied loop a couple more times, as though it were a dead snake and he was hoping for a death twitch. He frowned in disappointment when, after a moment, the spooky table stubbornly refused to actually do anything spooky. He sauntered around it, interest lost, and moved further back into the room.

As a matter of fact, he realized, it was less like a room, and more like a miniature lab. There were different segments, but unseparated ones, with large almost-doorways separating dead gadgetry and musty old antique cabinets. He blew the dust off a test tube, and scowled at the sludge-like, uninteresting contents. He supposed that explained why the place was so smelly. Though at least there weren't any over-scented flowers or bowls of potpourri. The president had used that crap when Kadaj first tracked him down. Loz had thrown it out the window.

He looked over to the other wall, noticing a dim flash, and perked up a little. There were bladed things over there. Not his forte, but weaponry was weaponry. He wandered over, glancing through the too-wide divider that wasn't quite a doorway into the other room, where Yazoo lay. The other boy was unmoving, but didn't appear in any distress, so Loz went back to pretending he wasn't there and going on with his exploration.

He had been right about the blades, but he made a face when he saw what kind they were. A small table was lined with varying sizes of scalpels, and one strange object that looked like a small ice cream scoop. It still had dried blood on it. Loz made a face. Above that hung a little wrack of saws and larger blades. One of them, what looked like a middle-sized and rusted hacksaw, was similarly stained to the scoop. Loz licked his suddenly dry lips. He glanced to the corner next to the table and gagged a little. He recognized a heavy-duty bolt-cutter when he saw one, but it had no business being covered in blood. He turned quickly away from the weapons and continued his walk, a little less in the spirit of fun, and more for the sake of making sure whatever had covered said instruments in blood wasn't still around to try their luck with him and Yazoo.

He briefly considered going back for his brother in order to have backup, then he squared his shoulders and scowled to the air. He was plenty tough, and Yazoo needed a break. He could handle a little something like this on his own. Besides, he was stronger than Yaz anyhow. He'd proved it a couple times already. He swallowed and walked onwards, much more alert than he had been. The next room was all but empty, but at the very far edge, almost exactly in-line with the door he and Yaz had stumbled through, was a curtain, like the ones he vaguely remembered from the Shinra med ward. He glanced around the rest of the room, and grimaced at the tubes sticking out of the old-style stone walls. They all started at different levels, but grew closer and closer together as they snaked further along, until they all joined in a river of machinery to dive behind the curtain. Loz shuddered a little, then took comfort in the fact that there was no indication any of those pipes were working.

In fact, now that he was thinking about it, despite the amount of out-of-place technology, none of it seemed to be working. As though, like the mansion itself, the additions had fallen into disrepair. Still. As the twisting stream of metal drew his eyes back to the impassive white curtain, Loz couldn't help but shudder. He didn't want to know what was back there. He'd thought he was prepared for anything, when he first walked inside, with Zack's secure support at his back, and Yazoo in need of his help. Then Sephiroth had gone and dropped that verbal bomb on him, and now he wasn't so certain anymore.

He swallowed hard and took a little, aborted step forward, before changing his mind rapidly and drawing his foot back, looking to the dusty floor to make sure nothing was going to spring up from the ground and attack him. The room remained utterly, eerily silent, and Loz shivered. There was so much not right about all of this he couldn't even fathom it all.

"There's nothing to be afraid of, Loz," he murmured to himself, wishing it was Kadaj saying the words as he strode forward with a flip of his hair. It was strange. He still imagined Kadaj shorter than he was, though that wouldn't be the case anymore. At least, he hoped it wouldn't be. What if Kadaj had gotten turned young too, and when he and Yazoo found him he didn't know who they were! What if he was just a baby, and he grew up thinking that Aerith was his mom and he didn't have brothers? It was a dumb thing to worry about in the face of the ominous white curtain, but Loz found he couldn't drop the thought. It was as though one fear had unleashed another. He could tell the cycle would continue if he didn't distract himself fast, so he took a step forward again, and forced his foot to remain in place, imagining that he nailed it to the floor where it landed, and forcing his focus away from fear for his little brother and onto the danger that might lurk right before him. After all, even if Kadaj was different, it wouldn't change that Loz had to make sure he and Yazoo got to him. They were brothers. He took another step forward, and whimpered softly, despite himself. He didn't want to see what was back there. He had a creeping sensation that, once he saw, things would change again.

The air was acrid in his lungs. He hadn't even noticed the night before, he was so panicked, but the whole room tasted like stale blood and old Mako. He stopped moving forward, because if he took another step he'd just walk through the white fabric, and he was hesitant enough to move it, much less go through it. Up close, he noticed white wasn't exactly the right word. It was musty, dust covered and moldy. The edges had started to fray and decompose with disuse. Loz guessed from the state of it that it had to have been years since anyone touched this curtain. And now, Loz stood before it, and tried to talk his hand into raising. He licked his lips, and grimaced at the taste of dust on his skin. His breaths were uneven again, with a completely different panic. He couldn't hear anything through his own breathing and heartbeat. He couldn't tell if he'd be walking in on something living, or just another dead control panel.

He scowled as he talked his arm into lifting, the muscles tense and twitching with hesitancy that was in no way premeditated. There was a primal, basic part of him telling him to turn away-to go back to Yazoo and pretend nothing had happened. It wasn't too late. With a final twitch, he grasped the curtain, and felt the slickness of mold under his fingers as he gripped the old fabric. Loz swallowed hard, and shivered, the inevitable feeling of something creeping up behind him crawling up his spine. He whipped around, not releasing the curtain, and feeling the fabric start to tear and give under his tight and shuddering grip.

The rooms loomed behind him, dark and dangerous, and he could just make out the silver-white glimmer of his brother's hair, past the almost doorways between them, and the metal table blocking his view. He shuddered again, and craned his neck, trying to see around the corners of the small outcropping of walls between the rooms to no avail. There were only shadows. He loosened his grip and took a half-step away when, from behind the curtain, he heard a dull thump. He froze, waiting for the sound to repeat itself, but the lab echoed only silence, as though the sound had never occurred. He couldn't quite help the slow whine that crept out of his throat as he turned back to the dirty white curtain, staring at it, warring between ripping it aside and running for the door. Maybe if he could get Yaz, his brother could do this while Loz watched his back. Or, y'know, he could just leave with him and never ever ever have to look and see what made that little, hollow thump. Except, now that he had heard it...

Loz swallowed again, and took a slow, shaking breath, forcing himself to unbend from the cringing slump of his high-alert, frightened stance. His feet made dry sounds as they moved across the incredibly dirty floor. His heartbeat thrummed staccato in his chest, and tightened with fear, even as he redoubled his grip on the curtain, now almost using it as an anchor to keep himself steady.

"C'mon, Loz," he whispered to himself, his weirdly young voice warbling slightly. "B-be tough... Zack wouldn' run..." His mind mentioned, absently, that Zack was probably an idiot for not running. But that mental voice sounded like Yazoo at his haughtiest. Loz straightened his back, and reminded himself what he was doing. This was for Yazoo, his hurt brother. He had to make sure they were really really safe here. Not that he didn't trust his brother's instinct that they were, but the bloody tools on the wall and ominous table didn't help, and neither did the mysterious curtain that was currently crumbling under his hold. Loz took a final, deep breath, and ripped the curtain aside, tearing the fragile cloth itself with the motion with a resounding ripping sound.

Loz only realized he'd closed his eyes once he'd gone a solid thirty seconds cringing there waiting for the thing that went 'bump' behind the curtain to eat him. His hands were shaking, and his right fingers were still clutched around the fabric now spread across half the floor. He slowly slid his eyes open to look, and make a little sound of disgust and surprise.

The first thing he saw was black, and for a fraction of a second, he thought he was looking through a doorway into another unlit room. Then he realized the black was moving, and he took a little step back, and caught a glimmer of light off the glass tube containing the strange concoction.

"Oh," Loz muttered, "Mako tank..." It was, indeed, a Mako tank. The shape was distinctive, even built into the wall like this one, with half-a-dozen or more tubes leading into it. But it had obviously been left in disrepair. The system controls, to one side of the machine, were off line, and it looked like the life support systems had long ago been out of function, the wires frayed and bare. Loz realized what that might mean, and his jaw dropped in utter disgust, even as his gut twisted. He'd been wondering what could turn Mako such an ugly shade, but if the life support systems had failed... He turned horrified eyes back to the blackness, trying not to retch. If something had discomposed in the stagnant Mako, then maybe that would be enough to-

A dull thump broke him out of his trance so fiercely he actually shrieked, his hands lifting in automatic defense, as something pale struck the side of the tank. For a moment, he thought it was the hand of a skeleton, and almost screamed again but then he made out the flesh of knuckles, and the smoothness of skin. It was a hand. Intact. And definitely attached to an arm, through the black. And as Loz gaped at the four fingers and thumb floating limply against the glass, where they had struck, they twitched. Right there for him to see. When the hand vanished back into the blackness, Loz stayed gaping at the tube.

"Are you," he whispered to an invisible someone, "alive in there?" Nothing answered him. The world around him stayed dark and dull, and no matter how he strained he could see no other hint of the pale hand, till, after an eternity, with the faintest rush of liquid, that Loz only heard now that his heartbeat had started to calm, a slim foot thumped lightly against the glass, the pale skin pressing lightly against the glass, as though fighting for freedom before slipping away again.

In that moment, Loz forgot Yazoo's advice, as he already had some time ago, and ignored where he was, and all he knew of the world's treacheries and the lies and cheats the universe had inflicted upon him and his brothers. He dashed to the panel and, with a half-desperation, he pushed the largest red button his could, even before his brain informed him that was the one that would drain away the liquid and open the tube. The long-dead machine roared briefly to life with a deafening rush as the liquid was instantly sucked from the tube, leaving a tall, long form, just for a moment, upright, before it collapsed again. A person. Loz heard a choking, echoing, pathetic parody of a cough, and amended his mental assessment. A living person. The door opened halfway, with a rusty groan, before halting, the glass only having moved upwards about two feet. Loz abandoned the panel, which had once more faded into oblivion, to fall to his knees before the open glass and snake his hands inside, grabbing the man's arms, and watching the tubes with wary eyes as he dragged the form free.

The person gave an inarticulate cry as Loz touched him, but the boy was more worried about how long the glass would hold it's place, and the way bright, fresh Mako was dripping from several of the tubes, ominously, threatening to spill out once more. With a great grunt of effort, the boy pulled the man's torso out, and found that his legs slid out more easily. The body made a damp, nasty splat like a giant fish landing on hardwood when he hit the ground, but Loz ignored it, and the ugly sound of the body's moaning in favor of pushing down on the door until he managed to slide it back into place by force. Only then did he turn to the form of the man he'd just pulled out.

His legs were splayed on the ground, toes twitching and curling as he tried to cough out the tainted mako in his lungs. Loz trailed his eyes upwards, and they stuck on the man's left hand. Or, where the man's left hand should have been. His arm ended in a scarred stump, the pale skin glistening with black liquid. He gaped at the maimed flesh, and tried not to think of the bloody hacksaw. He forced his gaze away, and fixated on the wide, star burst scar on the man's chest, the epicenter over his heart, with the twisting points creeping outwards all the way to his sternum, so shockingly white that it seemed to glow, even through the black liquid staining his form. Again, he forced his gaze away, only to catch the disgusting sight of liquid draining from the empty eye-socket above the man's lips as he twisted to cough out the liquid. The stuff was everywhere, but Loz didn't move to help. He would have. In fact, it was his first instinct to do so, but as he stood, fascinated by the liquid draining both from his mouth and empty eye, and trying to decide what to do, the black mako started to drip off of the man's head and hair, and Loz caught sight of the long, meticulous length of silver hair hiding beneath it. It was then that Loz knew it. He knew, even before the man's single eye opened, who it was he had just saved.

An acid green, cat-slit pupilled eye stared up at Loz, and suddenly, the figure on the floor wasn't the one making the pathetic whimper.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

The sound of wet breathing filled the room to the breaking point. The gargling rattle of a dead-man's gasping. The air reeked of decomposition, and sickness, and death. There were goosebumps springing up on Loz's arms, sending shivers over his skin, though it was nowhere near cold enough to effect him. He could almost taste the tainted mako dripping sluggishly off the opalescent skin before him, puddling drop by drop on the floor. The air was taking on an acidic taste, like it might eat through his mouth at any time. It was kind of like sucking on a bit of metal covered in congealing blood. He nearly choked on the very thought, but it was still better than thinking about what was actually happening.

The slopping, chilling sound of the wet body moving again made Loz jump nearly out of his skin, and he backed off a couple steps as the form heaved its torso off the floor, leaning heavily on its available hand. Loz watched in fascination as washboard abs tightened and muscles quivered when the body retched and vomited. Nothing that came out of those perfect lips looked like it could ever have been ]anything edible. It looked like partially digested mako. Loz only noticed belatedly that his mouth was hanging open in blatant disgust, and closed it with a click. He instantly wished he hadn't, because that drew that eye back to him. He cowered away from it despite himself. He'd stood up to the man upstairs, but he'd been ready, then.

Now the narrowed slit of a pupil froze him in his place, and robbed him of the confidence he'd felt. He could almost feel the door to his side, and his brother's safe presence, but something stopped him. At first, he didn't know what it was. He assumed it was the same panic that he felt as that inhuman gaze continued to bear into him, but a soft sound changed his mind. For a moment, he thought the soft rattle and skitter were bugs, crawling towards him, and he almost screamed and bolted. Then he caught a shiver of movement behind the body, and looked to his supporting hand. The muscles were quivering, making too long uncared for nails click against the floor. Loz swallowed at the sight, but something about it-that display of weakness-put him at ease, and he found he could breathe again. He nearly gagged on the scents in the air when he did, but it was an improvement.

As he calmed, he realized that the rattle ebbed and grew with the intake and exhale of the half-collapsed man's breath. He recognized it, dimly. Yazoo had breathed the same way after being hurt. But it was just weird to hear it in connection with the heavy breathing of the man he was watching. It was creepily human, but equally unimpowering. Loz swallowed once more, and steeled himself. He shifted, straightening and pulling his shoulders back, head rising so that he was looking down at the splayed form before him. Whatever he was going to say, and he wasn't sure what was about to come out of his mouth, was interrupted when the pale form shuddered again and started to slump. Loz let out a little sound, and before he could think twice, moved forward to catch the much larger man around the shoulders to stop him from passing out in the puddle of mako and vomit under his head. The skin was hot under his hands, and disgustingly sticky. Loz almost dropped him the moment he realized who, exactly he was touching. But he couldn't quite do it. Not with the shuddering skin burning under his fingers, and the pathetic gasping of the form. The man's head lolled weakly, and Loz's eyes widened.

The man's mouth hung open as he gasped raggedly for breath. That, in itself, was unsurprising after being trapped in mako for who knows how long, but the fact that behind his stained teeth was no tongue was something Loz found unspeakably strange. And it made up his mind. He had no idea what was going on, and it was unbelievably strange that he was holding another version of the silver-haired man in his arms, but there was no doubt in his mind that it wasn't the same one. He hauled the body to the side a little before setting it back to the ground, staring at narrowed, pained eyes, and murmuring the man's name to himself, almost to cement and test it.

"Sephiroth," he whispered, and he couldn't help the soft awe in his voice as he said the name. the man below him made a soft sound in his throat past the panting. Loz couldn't tell if it was just another sign of pain, or an acknowledgment of the name, but the moment he said it, he knew it was right. There was no doubt. When he'd said it upstairs, he knew it wasn't quite right, and it still didn't feel perfect. But it was closer. It occurred to him, briefly, that it was just a name. It shouldn't feel any different to call Zack Sephiroth than to call this latest person by the name. But it felt important, somehow, and he'd learned not to question things in this strange new world too hard. It only made his head hurt. He turned his attention back to the sopping wet man, his skin sticky and shining with black goo, and his eyes fixed on Loz through a narrowed gaze. The empty eye socket was eerily reminiscent of his own brother's missing eye, but Loz could ignore it. His eyes were pulled, instead, to the scar on the great man's chest, ignoring the heat in his gaze, and the fear coiling in his stomach as he was faced, for the second time in as many days, with his worst nightmare and greatest hero.

It was the scar that drew his attention away from his deadly eye. The one that streaked outwards like a small explosion over his heart frozen forever in flesh. Loz wanted to touch it. He had no idea why. It was like he recognized it, though he'd never seen a mark like it before. While it was striking and almost beautiful at first glance, as the liquid pooled in it, and Sephiroth's ragged, heaving breaths moved his too-shallow chest in the dim light, Loz grimaced at how uneven it was from the rest of his perfect skin. It pulled on the healthy skin around it, and it didn't move like flesh should. It was inflexible and stiff, with deep furrows in it, giving it depth and texture. It was disgusting. And Sephiroth hadn't had it when he died. He hadn't been missing a hand either, for that matter. Or an eye. And the Sephiroth upstairs had all of those things.

"This doesn't make sense," he muttered to himself, there was the smallest hint of a sound from the limp, half-drowned form before him, and Loz looked back up to his face again, studying the expression that managed to seem deadpan even while gasping for breath. Not that the deadpan fooled him for a moment. He'd learned to read Yazoo. In comparison, this Sephiroth was a piece of cake. It was the twitching in his hands, and the hitch of his breath that were the real measures of how much pain he was in. Loz slowly lowered his hands to touch the sticky skin again, placing his fingers on the tip of the scar. Sephiroth didn't even react to the touch, so Loz frowned a little and pressed his luck. He slid his fingers up, feeling hem try to stick in the gooey residue covering the man, and placed his hand firmly around Sephiroth's throat. He could feel the heartbeat thundering under his skin. Sephiroth didn't even swallow, but he did lift his hands. Or rather, Loz supposed, his hand. Both his arms came up to try and stop him, but only one of them actually had a hand attached to help.

Loz held his breath, waiting for the pain to finally strike as Sephiroth's slim fingers closed around his wrist, but nothing more happened. He opened his eyes once more and stared down at Sephiroth. Sephiroth stared straight back, and Loz wondered if he ought to feel something he wasn't feeling, like fear, or awe. Right at that moment, Sephiroth was not seeming particularly evil or god-like. He squeezed his fingers on the soft throat, and the fingers on his wrist, which wrapped fully around his smaller arm, squeezed back in warning. But still he wasn't hurt. Sephiroth's ragged gasps caught briefly in a hacking cough as he tried to expel the mako from his lungs. He choked when he wasn't allowed to turn his head by the hand on his neck, and Loz relented instantly.

As Sephiroth turned away, coughing like he was attempting to expel his own lungs, Loz was lost in thought. He didn't even know what had just happened, and all of a sudden, he was sitting in a thin pool of black mako with a silent, wounded Sephiroth lost in the middle of the Nibelheim mansion. He wasn't cut out for mysteries. He had never liked mysteries. Of course, as far as he'd remembered, he'd never had to solve any mystery beyond 'where's mother,' but he knew he hated them, even if that was Sephiroth talking. That was the only way Sephiroth could talk, as far as he could tell. Another confusing point. How had the Demon of Wutai ended up tongueless?

The form in front of him gave up on its battle to be upright and slumped, but Loz looked up in time to see that eye gazing solemnly and resignedly up at him, expecting the worst, anticipating any fate, and he knew without a doubt that he couldn't kill Sephiroth. When even the eye had closed, and Sephiroth's form lay there, unconscious and breathing heavily, Loz still had no idea what to do next. He sat there, immobile, for a long moment, before he suddenly remembered why he'd found Sephiroth in the first place. Yazoo. He was seized by a sudden fear, that this Sephiroth was a distraction, and his brother had been captured while he was being foolishly altruistic.

He jumped to his feet before he had time to fully comprehend the impulse to do so, and sprinted back though the eerie, wide rooms. Out of the dark, he caught a glimpse of silver-white hair, and he dashed over to it, falling over his own feet in his haste and landing hard on his knees beside his brother. Yazoo jumped out of his sleep at the sound that made, and snapped a wide-eyed gaze up to his brother. Loz tried to say something but, as usual, Yazoo beat him to the punch.

"What did you do this time?"

Yazoo never slept particularly well. It was not a skill he had ever honed. He'd preferred to stay awake, and watch over his brothers as they tossed and turned like puppies, and laugh softly when they awoke tangled together in a pile of limbs. The few times he slept as well, he didn't wake up tangled, like they did. Sometimes Kadaj would have snuggled into his arms, but it was never in the carefree, affectionate way he and Loz curled against each other. And he never liked it. He should have, he was aware. Kadaj was his precious brother, but he'd never been comfortable with the other boy pressed against his chest, and his breath rushing against his neck. Usually the moment Kadaj moved closer to him, he would wake up. Even then, he had wished it different.

Sleeping on the cold, hard surface beneath him now was little better, truth be told, but it was certainly different. He was tired. Even while asleep, he was still aware how badly he needed the rest. He could still smell Loz, even in the half-asleep state he was in. Loz, who had slept curled in his arms without a single hissy fit or annoyance. Yazoo hadn't enjoyed it... but he hadn't despised it either. It had been almost nice. Certainly bearable.

An loud noise jerked him awake, and he launched into wakefulness so quickly it made him dizzy. He was on his feet before hi eyes were open. When he finally pried them open past the sleep clouding them, it was to stare down at his little brother, on his knees, on the floor. He bristled instantly at the sight of the boy, wondering what on earth he had been doing to make such a noise. So much for letting him sleep. He was attempting to decide how angry to be when Loz started crying. Yazoo choked back anger for pragmatism, and clenched his jaw.

"What did you do this time?" he snapped. When Loz just knelt there trembling instead of answering him, Yazoo growled to himself and yanked the boy to his feet, pulling him closer and casting his gaze around the room, ignoring the little sound of pain that Loz made at the sharp movement. He couldn't see anything different, but there was a smell... He looked back down at his little brother, shivering against his side in shock at something, his eyes tracked down to the strange, ugly blackness staining the little hands holding slightly too hard to the bandages covering his midriff. Yazoo grabbed him by the wrist and pulled the hand from his stomach to stare at the sludge on small fingers. He looked, very slowly, to Loz, surprised by the lack of anger he was feeling. Loz was whimpering softly into the clean bandages on his elder brother's side, but twisted his face to look back at Yazoo.

"I f-f-f-" he stuttered his voice choked and panicked. His eyes caught Yazoo's and whatever look was on Yazoo's face stopped his useless stutters instantly. Yazoo took a deep, calming breath.

"What," he said, his voice utterly calm, and not a mote of anger in him, "happened this time, Loz." The smaller clone gulped in nerves, despite the lack of screaming, or maybe, Yazoo thought, because of it. The hand Yazoo was holding pulled from the grip he had on it to point, shakily, away from the door, deeper into the dark rooms. He barely glanced that way, but he could hear something breathing in the dark, and see the glint of steel. His eye was still blurry and unfocused with sleep. He looked down to his little brother.

"Loz, we talked about this," he said firmly. Loz just whimpered softly again, ducking his face back against Yazoo's side and shivering. The elder remnant sighed softly, shaking his head. "Alright, what's back there."

"N-not what," Loz whispered. He sounded breathless and dry-voiced, as though he had not spoken for far too long. Yazoo stilled a little and looked down at him with narrowed eyes. The kids head was bowed, and his shoulders shook. Both of his hands were fisted, not grabbing Yazoo, but his tightly clenched hands rested one on his back, and the other on his side. Yazoo could feel him quivering, and hear his breaths hitch with half-disguised tension. He sighed heavily

"Fine. Let go. I'll deal with it," Yazoo snapped sharply, eyes narrowing and pulling away from his brother's hold, striding forward briskly, his eyes turning into the darkness. Loz let out a soft noise behind him and grabbed his wrist with both dirtied hands, tugging him backwards. Yazoo grimaced at the feel of slick, sticky hands on his skin and jerked away quickly, his stomach lurching at the sight of hand-print stains around his wrist. Loz gave a choked little sound as Yazoo turned away from him once more.

"W-wait!" The younger clone cried helplessly, though he didn't grab Yazoo again. His voice was stronger than the last time he'd tried to speak, but still shaking. Yazoo paused and turned cool eyes to him. The motion twisted his torso, and he couldn't help but notice that he felt better-stronger-and his stab-wound barely twinged at the motion. He still didn't want to put up with this directly after waking up. He pulled his glance, momentarily, from his brother to the bandages around his middle. He could feel them rubbing against the scab that had only a night ago been an open, bleeding wound. He softened a little, and sighed heavily.

"What, Loz," he snapped, not as grumpily as he would have liked to. After all, the kid had saved his life. Part of him muttered 'again,' but he ignored it as best he could. The boy gave a little sob.

"I-it's j-just..." he hesitated and shivered, and Yazoo frowned, turning back to look him over. He didn't look hurt, but he wasn't acting like his Loz. His little brother rarely had difficulty speaking. In fact, if anything, it was the opposite problem. He looked once again back into the rooms, and saw a glimmer of silver. It made him stiffen instantly, and his heart leap into his throat.

"Kadaj?" he queried softly, almost to himself, his voice hollow, and a painful swell of hope in his chest. Loz sobbed softly.

"N-no," he said, his voice cracking on the declaration. Yazoo stiffened, physically hurt by the loss of that fragile hope, and turned slowly to Loz. As he looked at him, his heart sank lower still, and he was filled with a sickening fear, because there were not many men with silver hair. Not much that could be glinting in the back in that particular shade. Even less that could reduce Loz to a shivering wreck. Yazoo crouched just a little, and held back the growl that wanted to rumble through him.

"Loz, out the door," he rumbled, backing towards the exit. "We need to run." Just as he was turning to do exactly as he said, those messy fingers anchored around his wrist again, and he was jerked back by the younger brother who could barely stand without trembling himself to pieces.

"Y-Yazoo, wait, it's not him!" Loz cried even as he tugged more insistently at Yazoo's arm. The elder brother jerked his hand sharply away once more, whirling to stare at him, knowing he looked half-crazed and feeling so as well. Why were they still standing here, with that monster a few rooms away? He snarled at his cowering little brother.

"You mean it's not Sephiroth," he whispered sharply, less a question than an accusation. Loz let out a little whimpering sound, that really ought to have brought Yazoo's rage under control, and only made it spike. They were wasting time.

"No, it is, but it's not, but it is!" Loz whined, a pleading note in his voice. Yazoo clicked his tongue sharply.

"You're being stupid," Yazoo snapped, grabbing his brother by the nape of his neck where he wouldn't be subjected to the strangely tingle-inducing black sludge on his fingers and towing him towards the door. "Now we're getting out before that thing succeeds in killing us." Loz yelped and writhed under his grip, but Yazoo was unrelenting, dragging him to the doorway, fingers clenched on the skin of his brother's small neck.

"Yaz," Loz whimpered with a despirate edge to his young voice, "You're hurting me..." It wasn't what he said so much as the betrayal in his voice that made Yazoo let go as though his hand was burning and move instantly away, all the same instincts that kept him from touching his brother so long snapping back to life. Loz was staring up at him with wounded green eyes that ought to have been illegal they looked so young. He looked like a kid. Even as desperation ran through him with every beat of his heart, Yazoo could feel himself relent under that gaze.

"I didn't mean to," he said firmly, not sure whether he was attempting to reassure Loz or himself. The smaller boy sniffled, one besmirched hand lifting to cup the back of his neck protectively. Yazoo caught a glimpse of reddened skin there before he covered it, and winced mentally, though he would never let it show. The mark would bruise without a doubt. He glanced nervously back into the room. "But we have to go, Loz. You know what he'll do to us..."

"If you'd just listen," Loz snapped back, his voice twice as fierce as Yazoo's, even though it held half the age, "I could tell you he won't." Yazoo jerked back a little, eyeing his little brother up and down. Loz still looked shattered and scared, but he'd straightened, his shoulders back and his eyes bright and fierce. There was only one thing Yazoo could do to such a look on the boy's face. After all, when it came down to it, of the two of them, Loz was the stronger soul.

"Fine," he murmured, forcing himself to stand down, though adrenaline still thrummed through him relentlessly, "tell me." Loz paused, and his eyes slid to the ceiling, looking in no way contrite, but his brows furrowing in thought. He shifted, then hummed softly to himself in an almost nervous noise of consideration.

"Uhh," he said, and Yazoo already knew he wasn't going to like what came out of that little mouth next, "I think it'll make more sense if you see yourself..." Silence fell between them for a moment as Yazoo stared down at his brother in quiet disbelief and resignation. There were some days he hated being right, and to be honest, he had rather expected that giving in the first time to the boy's passionate request would lead to yet another concession. He forced his jaw to unclench, and his fingers to relax from the tight fists they'd curled into. His fingers ached a little. He felt dizzy from the stale, rotten smell in the air. His head ached from the idea that his little brother actually waned him to go closer to the man who had tortured him only the day before. Yazoo imagined he could still taste him, though surely the taste of his own blood must have replaced it by now. He licked his lips once, nervously, and looked to his brother.

Loz looked afraid, but not in the way Yazoo was. He didn't look full of mind-numbing terror. He didn't even look afraid of the evil being deeper in the darkness of the room. He was just staring up at him, with enormous, nervous eyes, waiting for his judgment. Yazoo wanted to say no. Loz was so small he could easily have thrown him over one shoulder and walked away. Loz probably wouldn't even have kicked him to hard. But it wasn't really about Sephiroth. Yazoo could feel it. He could sense it in his bones. This moment wasn't about Sephiroth, even if the next ten were going to be. This was about trust. About whether he trusted Loz enough to follow him into the darkness and face the thing that turned his bones to jelly with fear. Even as he drew in the breath to speak, he wasn't sure which way he was going to decide.

Three seconds later, and he still hadn't decided. Loz's pathetic, hopeful gaze hadn't wavered in the slightest. Another five seconds, and Yazoo was starting to realize he was holding his breath while trying to choose, unable to choose between the two paths. It wasn't that he didn't trust Loz. It was just that he wasn't sure how much he was willing to trust him with. With helping him out of a bind, absolutely. He'd proven himself beyond a shadow of a doubt, but with something so deeply important... With both their lives...

He really needed to breathe again, but he'd drawn this breath having decided to use it to answer his little brother, and he wasn't taking it back. He steeled his resolve, closed his eyes for a moment, then answered.

"Alright, Loz," he whispered, though he felt like he was going to throw up the moment he opened his mouth to speak. He hoped fiercely he wasn't signing both their death warrants with his words, but they'd come this far together. And Loz trusted him. How could he not return at least that small courtesy? Despite the roiling sickness of worry filling him, it was almost worth it for the way Loz lit up at the words.

A Loz beckoned to him and led him, quietly, through the rooms without saying a word. The silence was welcome, and Yazoo took leave to be grateful Loz hadn't been excited enough to give him a hug or grab him again. His hands were disgusting. He followed behind his brother with quiet footsteps, his boots muffled on the floor from the caution of his steps. Each movement was distinct and deliberate, and with every one the smell of rottenness in the air grew deeper, and the oppressive atmosphere thicker. He could feel memory nudging against his mind. As though he felt this should remind him of something. The tangy scent of blood hit the air, old and stale as the rest of the building. He felt strange. Taller than he should have been, and shorter at once. He'd felt similarly before. It was Sephiroth's mind and memory, creeping into his, but for the first time it felt more like blending than a take over. Sephiroth had seen this. Been here. He couldn't even be afraid, as he followed his brother back. For knowing how wrong it was, it felt strangely right. Like there as a magnet further back in that darkness, and he was a nail, drawn inexorably towards it. He didn't bother looking around the rooms as they passed, but he saw the table anyhow, and knew what it was. He could still feel its shackles tight around his wrists and ankles.

He didn't look at the walls either, but he knew what bloodied torture tools he would find there. He could feel them in his skin. Loz stopped at the last almost doorway, and Yazoo's attention was instantly drawn to the ragged, ugly once-white curtain draped like a shroud across the floor, wrinkles stiff and starched, as though there were a huge number of snakes underneath, holding them up. He didn't want to look away from that almost-whiteness, at the rest of the room. Everything else was in his blind spot. He wanted it to stay that way. He could see a bit of black liquid, creeping closer to the almost-pure white curtain, staining it, the blackness traveling up the white cloth like the stigma, infecting yet another victim. Then he heard a creak of leather as Loz moved forward again, and before Yazoo could think, he had whipped his gaze back to the boy, worried he would get himself in yet more trouble.

He was just in time to watch the kid wince as he crouched next to the ruined body of Sephiroth and brushed the bangs back from his empty eye socket. Yazoo lost his breath and his strength. It took his every instinct to stay on his feet rather than sagging against the wall hopelessly. Here was his original, lying on the dirt and grime of a floor, torn more fiercely than Yazoo himself. A second Nightmare, of an entirely different kind than the one upstairs. As Yazoo stared fixedly into the empty socket, watching the ugly black liquid drip sluggishly from the corner of the unnatural hole, Sephiroth's pale eyelid forever closed, sunken back inside the bone, he knew that the gentle companionship he had shared thus far with his brother was over, one way or another. And distantly, in the back of his mind, he wished he had Velvet Revolver again.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Loz stayed kneeling by Sephiroth out of fear more than anything else. He didn't like being so close, particularly. He was afraid of the incomplete, unconscious man, and his heavy breaths and ruined eye, and kneeling in the black sludge puddling around him was far from pleasant. He'd moved over there in the first place to show that he wasn't afraid, because he knew that Yazoo was, and he'd wanted to put him at ease by showing that the body wasn't a threat. (He knew he should be calling the form next to him Sephiroth, but he didn't want to risk it. He was a little worried that saying the name out loud too much might draw the other one. The one who'd tried to break them.)

However, once his point had been made, he found he couldn't move, because when he looked back to Yazoo, he didn't see the gentler gaze he'd so recently discovered his brother could give him, or even the cool detached one he got when he was unhappy. His seeing eye was gazing straight at Sephiroth with pure, murderous rage, even as his blind one glowed impotently and reddened with tears. And Loz suddenly was afraid, but not of Sephiroth. He'd very rarely seen Yazoo angry. So rarely it was like looking at someone else. Some other remnant that strangely resembled his recently beloved brother. It wasn't though. He'd caught a glimpse of this twice before, once when he watched his brother shoot a man in the head behind his own house. Except that then Yazoo hadn't known he'd been watching. He'd tried to slip away from him and Kadaj to do the dirty work. Loz had just snuck along to find out why he was so insistent. The only other time had been when he shot Cloud Strife through the heart to take him with them to hell. He swallowed heavily, and thanked his lucky stars that Yazoo didn't have his gun this time, because he was seriously starting to think that Yazoo would just shoot the man he'd saved so recently.

"Uhm," he said, hoping to draw his brother out of his eerily violent, obsessive inspection of the man lying prone on the floor, "I-I found him in th' mako tank..."

"I know," Yazoo snapped sharply, not looking to Loz from the body on the floor. "Why didn't you leave it." Loz stared at him, and scooted a little closer to the body on the floor beside him, one of his hands straying into black-mako streaked silver hair and stroking over the scalp beneath in automatic and thoughtless comfort. Even if he wasn't going to think who it was he was sitting next to, no one deserved to be called an 'it.' And Yazoo knew that.

"He was hurt," Loz answered, knowing the animosity in his voice would only make matters worse, but not well enough in control of himself to stop the words from coming out snippy and aggressive. Yazoo, in due form, straightened further, his eyelids lowering to half mast, giving him a lazy, competent look, and effectively distancing himself from his brother. It didn't cut the hatred or the intent in the gaze.

"I don't care," he purred, and the chill in his voice was palpable. Loz stroked his hand through the other man's hair again, watching his brother's immovably blank face. "Whatever that thing is, you should never have bothered with it. Now it's nothing more than another mess we have to clean up."

"No," Loz snapped in return. He wasn't allowing himself to shake, but his breaths were hitching a little with soft desperation. He needed Yazoo's help with this, and all the other man was interested in was making it worse. Yazoo narrowed his gaze and positively sneered at him.

"Move out of the way, Loz. You've never been any good at picking up after yourself," He drawled. The words were intended to hurt, and they did, but Loz didn't move, or lash out. He knew his elder brother wasn't at his best, but he was more than capable of moving quick enough to hurt the man gasping so weakly at his side before Loz could stop him, if the boy made a move. Instead of letting Yazoo lead him, Loz inhaled deeply and tried to calm himself down. It didn't really work, because he'd seen this cold look on his brother as he watched the body he'd killed himself dissolve into the life stream with a contemptuous sneer, but it was better than nothing.

"H-He's not a mess, he's a person," Loz said firmly.

"It's a monster, and an atrocity. It's not even all there," Yazoo argued, his nose wrinkling in distaste as he gazed at the incomplete man. Loz wanted to throttle him for saying that, like it was Sephiroth's fault someone had cut him up.

"I saved him," he snapped instead. "I saved him, so he's my responsibility, and I'm not gunna let you kill 'im." Yazoo positively snarled at him, and Loz had to fight not to back away from the life he'd been so anxious to protect a moment before. Yazoo was scary, and Loz wasn't sure that his brother wouldn't go through him to get at Sephiroth.

"Is your memory so bad you can't remember yesterday?" Yazoo rumbled, his voice deceptively calm and condescending.

"N-no," Loz said softly, feeling the scalp under his fingers turn as Sephiroth turned towards him a little. It struck him that the ragged breathing was being intentionally quieted, and he knew then that Sephiroth was awake and listening. He forced himself not to go skittering away at the thought, or even move his hand, though he made himself stop petting the man.

"Oh," said Yazoo, with a painfully fake surprise, "you do remember?" Loz tensed and frowned at him, and his brother actually met his eyes that time, and Loz was petrified for a moment by the fact that the hatred didn't seem to have lessened, between looking at Sephiroth and looking at him. He didn't know what was happening in his brother's mind, but he was suddenly very, very afraid that Yazoo was in one of his episodes where he considered all of them mere extensions of Sephiroth. If he started pulling that shit right then, he wasn't sure what his own chances of getting out alive were.

"'Course I do," he tried to snap. It came out in a shaking whisper.

"Then how is it you don't see 'TRAP' written all over this." Yazoo growled, dropping the disinterested act. Loz swallowed hard, and tried to take comfort in the fact that Yazoo hadn't just knocked him out of the way yet. He still stood a chance. There was still a way to make his brother see. He just had to find it. He swallowed.

"S-Sephiroth doesn'tbother with traps," he argued softly. "E-especially not th-th' one we saw upstairs..." he trailed off, his eyes watching his brother's fingers twitch at his side, obviously looking for the gun he wished was there. He felt his own hand clench, missing Dual Hound fiercely, even as he kept his other fingers light in Sephiroth's hair. He could feel him shivering, and bit his lip in tension. He couldn't let Yazoo kill him. He just couldn't.

"Then what would you call what he did in the forgotten city," Yazoo snapped. "He's a liar, and this is just another way to try and destroy us. Now move, so I can deal with it."

"You mean kill him," Loz snapped back. "I'm not letting you. And you're wrong about the forgotten city. He wasn't trying to fool anyone. He just waited to see if Cloud would do his job for him! It wasn't a trap. They would have gone there anyway! He was curious." He didn't know where that had come from, but he knew it was true. What of Sephiroth was really himself in that city had just wanted to know whether Jenova could make Cloud finish the job before handling it himself. Yazoo looked neither convinced nor pleased, so Loz didn't stop. "A-and he can't defend himself, so it ain't fair! Besides, m-maybe he knows the way out! I mean, I don't know about you, but I'm lost down here. We need him!"

"We don't need anyone," Yazoo hissed, glaring at Sephiroth with renewed hatred. Loz glanced down to see that Sephiroth had opened his eye to watch them argue, the striking cat-slit pupil still fuzzy and dilated, unfocused. He glanced to Loz as well, and Loz couldn't tell what was going on inside those eyes. He hoped he saw gratitude, but it might just as easily have been confusion. Loz swallowed, because he felt like he owed something to the owner of that exhausted, wounded gaze. He turned back to Yazoo, forcing himself not to comment on Sephiroth's consciousness.

"Th-that's a lie," he said firmly, "a-and you know it. We n-needed lots of help, e-even to get here. I w-would'a been too l-late," he choked on the words, because even as he said them his anger at his brother was fading, replaced by a renewed fear of loss. He couldn't handle loosing him. He just didn't want to have to loose the man he'd saved either. He'd done so few good things. He drew in a shaking breath, knowing there were tears in his eyes,but not letting them fall or choke him just yet. "I w-wouldn't have gotten t-to you in t-time if Z-Zack hadn't been there... I-if he hadn' helped me..." Yazoo was staring at him. He didn't say anything after that, but Loz thought he saw something loosen in him, and grabbed the opportunity. He turned to Sephiroth, and hoped he wasn't wrong.

"Do you know the way out?" he asked, feeling too close to the other man, as though he were threatening him. He supposed he was. It didn't sit well with him at all. But Sephiroth seemed far from intimidated. He simply gazed at him solemnly out of his single working eye for a long moment, before turning his gaze to the ceiling and giving a slow, deliberate nod. The movement wrung an involuntary choked, raw sound from him, and the disinterest and calmness in his gaze was too obviously a lie. Loz rubbed his hand through silver hair again, unperturbed by the re-introduction of black marks to the man's hair. The lack of reaction from the man to the touch didn't bother him either. He was sure it didn't hurt at any rate. Not compared to anything else the man had been through.

"You believe him?" Yazoo hissed. Loz looked up at him, unhappy with the cruelty his brother was displaying. He didn't like it one bit. His brother wasn't a monster. He tried to remember that and cut him some slack, even as he inhaled deeply.

"Think about it this way, Yazoo," he said calmly, though his voice was still shaking, and his throat felt dry. "If you were him, would you want to stay?" As he spoke he nodded down to the form, his own eyes sweeping over his marred face, scarred chest and missing hand. Though he wasn't looking, he knew Yazoo would be glancing at them all as well, though probably with less gravity. His brother had never really been one to rely on empathy. He looked back up to Yazoo again, not letting himself look back to Sephiroth's eye, not wanting to see the look in it, and waiting for his brother's verdict. He was honestly scared that Yazoo wouldn't come around. He didn't want to be stuck in the middle; to have to turn against his brother in order to save the ragged, ruined Sephiroth. He had no doubt that this wasn't a trick. If he could only get Yazoo to realize that as well. His brother wasn't looking at him though. He was glaring heatedly down at Sephiroth.

"Won't speak for yourself?" he hissed. "Are we not good enough? Not real enough for you? Is this just another way for you to absorb us again?" Sephiroth's hair moved under Loz's hand as he shook his head in denial. Loz couldn't help the hand that unclenched from his side in order to clasp on the man's naked, sticky shoulder. The skin under his hand twitched, and he heard Sephiroth's breath hitch again. It was a clear sign he didn't want to be touched, but Loz couldn't help himself. He wanted to be physically grounded to the man he was protecting, even as he answered for him.

"He can't talk," he said firmly to his brother, forcing himself not to let too much horror or illness into his voice. After all, Sephiroth was listening, even if he couldn't speak for himself. "He h-hasn't got a tongue." The skin under his fingers didn't twitch in the slightest. Yazoo did. In fact, he recoiled fiercely, one hand lurching up from his side to clamp over his mouth, his eyes widening. He stumbled out of the room, away from them both, and Loz turned away rather than watching him throw up as the first retch wrung itself from Yazoo's mouth. He didn't know what had caused such a reaction in his brother, but he needed the moment. He turned back to Sephiroth, and he knew he was shaking and pale. After all, even wounded, this man could have killed him with a thought.

"Y-you won't hurt us, right?" he whispered, trying to make sure his voice was hidden from his brother under the sound of his retching. "I know w-we were p-part of you once, b-but..." He didn't have to finish, because Sephiroth was already shaking his head, wearily and slowly, each motion causing the tendons in his neck to strain painfully, the motion obviously agonizing and unaccustomed. Loz let out a soft breath and continued.

"You want to g-get out, right?" he whispered. Sephiroth started to nod, and Loz carefully stopped him by placing a hand under his chin to lessen the movement. "Don't hurt yourself. Uhh... blink once for yes, okay?" Sephiroth blinked once. Loz couldn't help but smile, shakily, at his easy assent to the new rule, though his heart was thundering in his chest. He could hear Yazoo whimpering piteously in the other room as his stomach tried to turn itself inside out. Loz swallowed nervously again, glancing out of the room after his brother with a sickening thought.

"Please don't be mad at Yazoo," he whispered, turning back to Sephiroth, staring into his dazed, inhuman eye. "Th-there's another you, and he really really really hurt him. He's scared... A-and I kinda am too..." Sephiroth blinked once, and Loz sniffled, wiping at his eyes, sitting back a little. He couldn't help wanting to fix the older man, looking at him lying there, dazed, exhausted, and pained. Though he still appeared as calm as he ever did, of course. He was the silver general. Yazoo interrupted his train of thought by staggering back into the doorway, looking wan and sick, still wiping his mouth. Loz's stomach lurched in sympathy, but he clenched his jaw and shook his head quickly to shake the impulse off, even as he took his hand from Sephiroth's shoulder to place it palm down on his own thigh, watching his brother carefully, wanting to support him, but staying at the side of the man who needed him more. Yazoo's legs trembled where he stood, but he didn't allow himself the luxury of leaning against the wall. For a moment, Loz hated himself for forcing this on his brother.

The room fell silent, aside from the breathing of two clones and the stilted gasps of their original. Loz could practically taste the tension in the air. He waited for the other shoe to drop. For Sephiroth to grab him and wring his neck before Yazoo could stop him, and prove his brother right. For Yazoo to attack and force Loz to fight him. Still everything was utter stillness. Until Yazoo drew in a long breath.

"If you can't walk," Yazoo hissed, "we're leaving you behind. If you touch a hair on either of our heads, I'll kill you. If you lead us the wrong way, I'll make you wish you were dead. Got it?" Loz swallowed, and bit back the urge to argue. It was the best he was getting. Sephiroth made a soft noise in the back of his throat, which sounded almost as though he had started to answer before remembering he could not. He nodded gravely instead, and Yazoo turned to Loz, his face grim, and closed once more. Loz had already begun to mourn the warmer Yazoo he had briefly seen the past little while. He had a feeling he had more than earned his brother's ire for the moment.

"Since he's your responsibility, you can get him cleaned up," Yazoo snapped, a sneer on his lips and his eyes narrowed. Loz couldn't help but notice he was back to flicking his hair over his blind eye, hiding it from view. Before Loz could argue, or apologize (he wasn't sure which he wanted to do more, but both seemed like viable options,) Yazoo had turned his back and walked away. Loz frowned after him, grumbling to himself.

"Thanks bunches for the support, bro," he muttered to himself, even as he lifted a hand to wipe the tears away from his eyes. He needed Yazoo's help, and all he could manage to get was his caustic anger. He didn't even care that he was getting black marks on his cheeks when he wiped at the tears. When he looked back down at Sephiroth, it was to meet a bleary eye waiting for him, still as impassive and empty as it had been a moment ago.

"I second what he said," Loz said in a shaking voice. "I believe you're... Not the real one exactly, but... but more like the real one. But if you hurt my brother I'll make you stop. One way or another." He instantly felt bad for the threat as he watched Sephiroth blink very deliberately in agreement. It wasn't fair of him to be doling out threats while Sephiroth lay there hurt and exhausted. It was certainly unfortunate that he had no idea what he could do instead. He didn't even know where to start. He sighed to himself.

"I guess," he muttered, "You'll need some clothes. And to get cleaned up a little. I hope you'll be able to move soon, because I don't think I can carry you. I'm kinda smaller than I used to be..." He would have continued, but Sephiroth's face had moved just a little. A fraction of an inch, really. Just the slightest tilt of the brows and twitch of the mouth. Loz didn't quite know how to read it, but it was warmer than the stone-cold look he'd had before. And if Loz wasn't wrong, there was something of an amused gratitude in it. Of course, he could have been very very wrong. For instance, he supposed, even as he quieted down to watch him for a moment, it could have just been an involuntary tick. But wishful thinking or not, he did shift, to sit up a little straighter, trying not to loom.

"You're welcome," he muttered. "Just don't be mad if I screw up. I'm not used ta takin' care of people." Sephiroth blinked, but Loz supposed it might just have been that his eye was dry. He sat a moment longer, thinking, before nodding to himself and walking over to the white curtain, gripping the rather gross material and ripping a rather large section of it off. It wasn't particularly clean, but it was absorbent, and Loz figured that getting Sephiroth dry was a good first start. He didn't even pause until he'd walked back over to Sephiroth and realized that he would have to touch the man. Then he paused a good long while before kneeling by him again and swallowing.

"Uhh," he whispered, feeling kind of strange, talking to the man without ever really receiving a response. "Is it okay for me to dry you off?" He didn't look in that eye as he said it. He was looking at the arm closest to him-the whole one- and taking in the goosebumps on Sephiroth's skin. He almost missed it when the man nodded, but he took the permission at once and set to work. It was easy enough wiping off his chest and first arm. Impersonal enough to be acceptable. The second arm was strange, even as he lifted it carefully to clean it off. It was eerie to hold the limp appendage with a missing hand. He couldn't help but feel that he really ought to have been cleaning in between the non-existent digits. When he wiped the rag, carefully, over the abrupt end of his forearm, it made a shiver go up his spine.

Sephiroth shivered as well, and Loz mumbled an apology, figuring the skin was sensitive. Sephiroth shrugged a little in response. The boy hoped it meant that he was getting some function back. He rubbed the towel over Sephiroth's bangs, then across his brow and cheeks. He paused again, swallowing hard once more when he was confronted with the still-soggy skin over his missing eye. He stared at it for some time, wondering what to do, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt the careful brush of longer fingers over his own. He looked down to see Sephiroth's shaking fingers take the rag from him, and quickly swipe it over the mark. His good eye was closed, and Loz thought he read guilt on his face. Or disgust. He disliked himself immensely for pausing so long there, and drawing attention to it. He took Sephiroth's hand and carefully lowered it to his side, taking the rag once more and scooting down to wipe off his feet and legs.

It was awkward and unpleasant work, and Loz could only imagine that it was worse for Sephiroth himself. However as he went he took care to massage the muscles he passed a little through the fabric, waking them from their long slumber. He didn't know how he knew, but he was aware it would feel both good and painful to the man lying prone and weak. Mako robbed you of your sense of self-location, and contact helped re-awaken dulled nerves and reflexes. Sephiroth carefully took the cloth again when Loz reached his hips, and Loz averted his eyes for him, flushing a little. He knew it wasn't any reaction to him that had made that part of Sephiroth twitch, but it was still embarrassing. Probably, he guessed, more-so for the injured man than himself. Again. It must have been pretty weird for him to be touched again. Loz had the feeling he'd been in the mako tank for a long time. It took him quite a while to work up the nerve to look over again. He did when he heard a rustle of movement, in time to see Sephiroth painstakingly sitting up, his every muscle in his body trembling at the movement. He looked like he could fall over at any minute, but Loz bit down on the impulse to help him. After all, he liked doing things for himself too. The older man's hair clung wetly to the floor, bound by the black sludge it had drained.

With a soft 'ew' of distaste, Loz took the rag back from Sephiroth and started pulling it through the man's hair. It was more instinct than anything. It was grossing Loz out, so he fixed it-simple as that. He only realized it might be strange when he noticed how tense Sephiroth was, and the way his head was turned slightly, as though to look at him. Unfortunately, Loz was on his blind side, so that wasn't working too well. Loz gulped, slowing his ministrations.

"I'm sorry," He whispered. There was a moment of utter stillness, then Sephiroth shook his head just a little. For a moment, Loz wasn't sure whether Sephiroth was arguing with the action, or rejecting the apology, so he held still. Then the elegant, whole hand laying wearily at the man's side lifted and gave a little wave. Loz took it to mean 'continue,' and went on with his work. As he carded the hair over the rag, cleaning the black gunk out of it, he became intimately aware of how very much of it there was. He was quite certain that if it hadn't been inhumanly sleek he never would have gotten the muck out, but as it was he got a preliminary job done relatively quickly, and hooked the mass of hair over Sephiroth's shoulder to wipe off his back.

He was aware when Yazoo returned to watch as he slid once-white fabric over Sephiroth's shoulder blades, but he ignored him. He wondered if Sephiroth would do the same, or if they would be watching each other with their eerily similar mis-matched eyes. He snuck a glance up at Yazoo and found his gaze fixed on the ceiling, and a grumpy look on his face. As he turned back to coaxing the liquid off Sephiroth's spine, he wasn't sure whether to be relieved by that or disappointed. He settled for indifferent and went back to working. If only he could convince his tear ducts that he didn't care, he would be all set. Not that crying made it much harder to see what he was doing. There wasn't much art to getting the black sludge off of Sephiroth's waxen skin. Still, it was embarrassing. A sigh echoed in the room.

"Don't cry, Loz," Yazoo grumbled prissily. Loz didn't even bother looking at him. He simply balled up the rag and threw it across the room, frowning darkly to himself.

"I'm not crying," he muttered, even as he stood again and walked back over to the white sheet, looking it over, trying to keep his attention on anything but the two men in the room with him. He knew both of them would be watching. He wondered if Sephiroth would have the same angry, exasperated look Yazoo always got when he started crying. It wasn't exactly something he wanted to find out for himself.

Instead he tried to figure out what to do about clothes for Sephiroth. There was probably enough of the curtain to wrap him up in, but the thing was falling apart. It wouldn't last long. He glanced around the room, but nothing struck his fancy. For a moment, his brain provided him with an image of him going upstairs to ask the other Sephiroth if he could borrow his clothes for a while, but somehow he doubted that would go over well. The curtain would have to do. He lifted it, gathering the fabric in wrinkled bundles into his arms. He had turn aside to sneeze at the musty smell, sniffling afterwards. There was enough of the white fabric that it was quite difficult for him to hold onto. It kept trying to slide out of his arms and onto the floor.

He walked back over to Sephiroth, feeling his brother's cool, dismissive gaze on him, and trying not to let it hurt. Maybe he'd gotten too used to the other side of his brother. After all, this was the Yazoo he'd known since the moment of their creation. It wasn't like he had changed. Neither of them had. He was still a damned crybaby and his brother was still a bastard. His hands were trembling as he looped the sheet around Sephiroth, not really registering what he was doing as he watched his hands hook the fabric under Sephiroth's right arm and tie it over his left, trying not to get it tangled with the long hairs trying to enter the knot. His fingers were shaking badly enough that it was hard to do. He wasn't sure whether it was fear or anger, or just stress.

It took him at least twice as long as it should have to tie a double knot in the fabric. The material under his hands was tearing even as he tied it, so he doubted it would last long. It was only when the knot was tied that he realized he'd done all this without even thinking to make sure it was okay with the man he was dressing. He swallowed and looked up into that eye. The man's gaze had sharpened considerably since he first woke up. The striking green of his eyes had started to cut through the fog, and his pupil was shrinking and widening over and over, as though attempting to adjust. And he was looking right at Loz. For an instant, the boy felt like an insect pinned to the spot and studied. Then the man's remaining hand lifted from where it lay limply on the floor and reached across the floor to a pool of the dark liquid, and started to move.

Loz was so busy staring at Sephiroth's eye, even once it turned away from him to watch his own hand move, he didn't look over for a good while. When he did, his eyes widened. Sephiroth's hand was shaking, the finger dipping in and out of the black. Where he had already touched, there were words traced. Loz stared blankly at the ground before shaking his head a little and focusing enough to read the shaky, deliberate letters. They were a little hard to read, the liquid already seeping slowly back into the cleared spaces, but Sephiroth had been careful to write in large letters to compensate for the poor writing material and his shaking hand. Loz swallowed as he read, feeling his throat tighten and some of the panic recede. Sephiroth's hand drew back, leaving the words briefly emblazoned in the puddle.

'My thanks.' It made Loz grin instantly, and a little of his fear melted away. His hand lightened on Sephiroth's shoulder, next to his hastily tied knot, the touch probably too familiar, but uncontested.

"That's smart," He said easily of the writing, grinning a little, but all with a grain of salt. He hadn't stopped crying, despite himself. He wanted to be happier, but with Yazoo watching him closely, a look of utter disappointment and disapproval on his face, and the crushing knowledge that Sephiroth was dangerous and deadly, and that at least one of his versions had tried to utterly destroy them both, it was difficult to come close to cheering up. After all, though he did honestly believe this wasn't a trap, he had to admit to himself that it was possible. And if it was true, than he was unforgivable-forcing his brother into acceptance of a man who could be the most dangerous they had ever faced. He glanced up at him, and jumped three feet in the air when he realized Yazoo was suddenly standing right next to them, looking at the words with narrowed, unimpressed eyes.

"If you're done," he growled, "we're going. Now." His hard gaze turned to Sephiroth, and Loz saw the fear and anger flare simultaneously in his elder brother's gaze. The reflection of Sephiroth in his blind eye was striking. The impromptu garment and his striking hair lightened Yazoo's already pale, blank eye till it seemed almost pure white. Then Yazoo turned away again, and Loz caught his breath once more. There had been something far too eerie in that image. He turned back to Sephiroth, hoping for some sort of answer, but was met only with a fuzzy, half-focused look, and a gaping hole where its twin should have been. He swallowed, and took a step back.

It wasn't until Sephiroth stood, slowly and carefully, his joints creaking even as he did so, that Loz really realized how big he was. He was a behemoth. He was bigger than even he himself had been in life. He'd thought it was the tint of memory and fear making the Sephiroth upstairs a giant, but he wasn't so sure now. The man seemed to stretch upwards for miles, from where Loz was. He himself barely came up to his midriff. When he started walking, unsteady and too-obviously wounded, Loz followed without thought, hovering at his side, though he wasn't certain it would actually be possible for him to hold the man up. Before he even knew it, they had followed Yazoo out of the room, his boots making sharp little clicks in contrast to the soft slap of Sephiroth's bare feet against the hard floor. Before them, Yazoo walked quickly, the backpack slung over one shoulder, getting further and further ahead of the two of them.

"Yazoo," Loz hissed as he tailed behind him with Sephiroth, trying not to make too much noise. He wasn't even sure he was ready to go. Now that he was back out in the hallways he didn't feel nearly so confident that they were anywhere near safe as he had before in the room he'd considered theirs, at least for a little while. He hated it, and all of a sudden he couldn't stop remembering the wicked smirk the other Sephiroth had turned his way as he told him what he'd done to Yazoo, and his brother's empty, broken face. Yazoo glanced back at the call of his name, his seeing eye fixing on Loz, and the younger clone force himself back into the present, swallowing before continuing his thought, his voice soft and careful. "You don't know where were going." The slim clone froze a moment, then whirled, scowling, and stalked back.

"Fine," He snapped, stalking straight past Loz to stand in the back of the group. Sephiroth watched him go by warily. Loz could tell that the tall man was tense under his slim covering. He glanced down, and fought the urge to giggle at the sight of the half-covered man's slim legs sticking awkwardly out of the bottom of the loose and mostly ineffective garb. Then Sephiroth turned back forward and started walking once more, looking like he was limping on both feet, and trying to appear to be limping on neither. Loz swallowed and trotted to catch up, leaving Yazoo to follow, but casting one look back. His brother was following at a deadly stalk, half-crouched and looking rather like he was prepared for the fight of their lives. He hadn't looked so tense and competent even when they had taken on the turk pair together, or fought Cloud. Yazoo's look right then was more like the determined snarl he'd had when he shot Cloud that one last time.

Loz took a deep breath, and turned away, walking by Sephiroth's side. He'd chosen where to make his stand. Now he could only hope that the rift the tall, damaged man had created between them would be worth the pain it was causing them both. And that at the end of it Yazoo would be together enough to forgive him.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

After the third left turn in a row, Loz thought quietly to himself that they definitely should have gone full circle, but it appeared the Nibelheim mansion wasn't content to adhere to the laws of physics. Sephiroth led them on without ever breaking his stride through the claustrophobic dimly lit hallways-past towers of desks and chairs stacked up against the walls and old, decrepit elevator shafts that gaped open, spewing cold air and strange moaning, howling sounds. Loz had pressed closer to their guide after that. He'd received only the briefest of glances from the man for the motion before their guide turned his head back to watching their path. He would have grabbed Sephiroth's hand once his presence had been accepted there, but he was on his left side, and there was no hand for him to grab.

Sephiroth no longer looked so weak as he had back in the mako chamber. He still looked strange with the formless fabric falling down from his shoulders, shrouding him in white. In fact, he looked almost ill. The white of the fabric seemed to emphasize how pale he was, and the formless nature of the improvised garment accentuated how slim his limbs were, despite being in as good shape as one could expect after such an imprisonment. Even as Loz thought it, he itched to ask Sephiroth how long he had been trapped in the Mako, but now was not the time. Despite being healthier than the tall man, Loz was having to concentrate to stay at his side. Injured or not, Sephiroth's legs were very long compared to Loz's, and his stride was swift and precise. Loz had to kind of skip in and out of a jog to keep abreast of him, but he didn't want to get left behind. He had no idea where they were. When he glanced back to ensure that Yazoo was still there he found his brother slinking behind them, his suspicious eyes trained on the back of Sephiroth's head with fixed intensity and his fists clenched at his sides, a distinct stalk in his step. He looked like a wild cat, hunting his prey. Loz scowled at him before turning frontwards again.

Terrifying though it was, walking silently through those halls, Loz couldn't have spoken if he'd wanted to. He had the creeping sensation that there were eyes watching them all around, though the halls were distinctly empty. Every time they passed through a junction between hallways where they had to choose the next direction, Loz couldn't help but feel like he was walking into a pair of jaws. He pressed closer still to Sephiroth, his eyes flickering over the latest hall, lighting on the peeled paint and the grating on the floor, venting steam upwards from some as of yet unseen mechanical underbelly in the building. Sephiroth led them over it without faltering, despite that the grating must have bitten into the bottoms of his bare feet. Loz swallowed and forced himself to follow, feeling like the ground might fall out from under him at any moment. When Yazoo followed, five of Sephiroth's steps behind him, Loz glanced back to make sure he was safe. Before he could finish turning he caught sight of something inside the room to his left and froze.

Rows of Mako tubes. Row after row after row. All of them pitch black. As Loz watched, he heard a dozen quiet thumps, and watched pale limbs press against the glass. All the breath seemed to leave him. He stood frozen, staring, until a pair of hands caught his shoulders. He whirled then, lashing out fiercely at the one touching him, because he did not want to go in one of those tubes, and he just knew that's what would happen to him. He slapped the hands briskly aside and went in for the kill, but stopped dead with his hand reaching for a pale throat. Yazoo stared down at him out of wide, pale eyes, frozen and with a strange look of hurt. Loz opened his mouth to apologize, his eyes going wide and drawing his hand back, only to have Yazoo's fingers clamp over his mouth while the taller brother lifted his free hand to his lips to hush him. Loz swallowed and fell silent, staring up at his brother with wide eyes as Yazoo glanced nervously down the hall behind them. When his brother released his mouth, it was to grip his hand and tow him down the hall quickly. Loz cast a glance back into the room just in time to see a child's form outlined against one of the paler tubes. In the brief moment, Loz saw half-curled hair. Not Sephiroth. Then it was out of his sight and he jerked himself back into his location, stumbling after his elder brother.

Sephiroth had waited for them at the end of the hall, his good eye turned to look at them over his shoulder. There was nothing in that eye. None of the fear and hatred and anger that Yazoo's look held. Certainly none of the utter confusion and paranoia Loz could feel slipping through himself. When he deemed Yazoo close enough, the great general simply resumed their journey, turning down the right corridor this time, and leading them down another cluttered hall, stepping over child-sized chairs and ruined toys. Loz couldn't help looking down at the musty dolls they were stepping over. They smiled up at him manically out of glass eyes and painted lips, their expressions of delight fixed and unmoving.

As he picked his way through the messy path, still gripping his brother's hand for dear life, he watched all of the toys as they passed. One of them caught his eye in particular. A stuffed toy-a rag doll, he thought they were called. It lay right in their path. Yazoo didn't even slow down, going to step over the eerily dead-looking doll. Loz caught the flash in its eye just in time to haul his brother back before the thing lifted fingerless hands to catch his foot. Yazoo stumbled, and let out a soft gasp as Loz pressed against his brother's side. It was the first sound any of them had made since they embarked. The hallway seemed to come alive at it. The dolls collapsed and strewn about the hallway surrounding them twitched and started to move, slowly. Loz stared in horror at the one that had reached for Yazoo as it limply dragged itself to its rounded, stuffed feet and staggered upright, turning that blank smile to them. All around them the other dolls were limply climbing over the rubble in the hall towards them, some with painted porcelain faces turned up in cherubic smiles, and others floppy and fabric, some a mix of both, carved heads lolling on cloth necks. All of them smiling, and creeping their ways ever closer. Loz pressed against Yazoo's side, and felt his brother shiver. He could almost hear a laugh in the air, deep and rich and crazed, and utterly utterly Sephiroth. Then the first doll who had awakened sailed straight past Yazoo's ear with a brief and inexplicable thump, making his brother jump horribly in surprise. Sephiroth swept through the vacated spot in the circle quickly forming around Loz and his brother, a tense expression on his face, and grabbed Yazoo's arm with his good hand and yanked him forward, Loz still clasped in his hold. For a moment, as the dolls closed in on them, each of them starting to laugh in their own, higher-pitched versions of Sephiroth's crazed cackle, Loz wasn't sure whether Yazoo would let himself be saved from one Sephiroth by another. Then his brother relented under the insistent pulling on his arm and both he and Loz were towed out of the ever-thickening circle of laughing dolls at the point where Sephiroth had punted their leader. By the time they were halfway down the hall, Sephiroth had dropped Yazoo's arm to run, and Loz followed close on his heels with his brother, trying to cringe away from the laugh that seemed to infuse the very air they breathed while still running as fast as he could.

The next corner they rounded tried to close, to crush them or block their path. Loz barely made it through before the opening slammed closed into a solid wall. Loz tried to keep his eyes fixed on the whipping silver hair of Sephiroth as he sprinted down the hallway, but a movement on the blank grey wall to his left drew his gaze. He watched in shock as the wall itself reached out a hand to grab his arm. He couldn't help the scream that wrung out of his mouth as the vice-like grip of wood and plaster dragged him towards the wall. It hurt. He struggled against it, clawing at the fingers, but they were solid and immobile as if they had been built digging into his arm under his clawing fingers, and wouldn't budge no matter how hard he fought against them. He couldn't reach far enough to kick the long segment of wood and plaster dragging him ever closer to the wall itself, as under the sprouting appendage a gaping maw opened up in the building, waiting to devour him.

Out of nowhere another hand landed like a clamp on his free arm and a leather boot crashed into the base of the wall-hand holding Loz's arm in a bruising grip. The thing shattered at the impact, and Loz was pulled backwards by the grip on his shoulder. He turned as he stumbled back, turning his gaze to Yazoo, who had pulled him away. His mismatched eyes blazed dangerously at the wall for a moment longer before he switched the intense look to Loz and hauled him up into his arms. Loz didn't fight the hold, still breathless with fear, as he watched the wall grow a dozen more hands to reach for his brother before Yazoo took off, still holding him tightly. One of the hands almost tangled in Yazoo's hair, but they rounded the next corner before it could catch hold and the thing vanished before it could grab hold. Loz forced himself to look forward at Sephiroth's quickly retreating form as he felt his brother's breath heaving in and out of his lungs, and the plaster hand still gripping his own bicep, the fingers seeming to clench harder and harder as Yazoo ran on, swift as a blink.

The floor tried to collapse under them in the next hallway, but Yazoo's speed wasn't something to be taken lightly. When Loz had used his haste materia, when they were alive he was almost keep up with Yazoo in a fight. But as his elder brother sped on down the long corridor, Loz could hear the distinctive rattle picking up in his breathing again, and the thundering heartbeat in his chest. He remembered with a jolt how badly hurt his brother had been. They couldn't keep this up. When they made it to the next corner, Loz was surprised to find Sephiroth actually waiting for them at the juncture. He didn't loosen his grip on his brother in the slightest though, and he felt Yazoo actually tighten his own hold. He did tilt his head a the maimed man.

Sephiroth nodded to the right hand hall, darker still than the others before it, with what looked like water dripping through the ceiling, and turning to walk that way. Yazoo held still, clutching Loz to his chest. Loz didn't dare argue. He was trying, in vain, to pull the wooden hand off his bicep without taking his eyes off Sephiroth. He felt Yazoo inhale more deeply, and turned his eyes to his brother's face.

"If you think I'm going that way, you're crazier than I thought," the older boy snapped at their guide, with anger in his voice but fear on his face. Loz watched his brother's good eye glare daggers at Sephiroth even as his pupil shrank to a pinprick and his arms started to shake around him. Loz couldn't help but abandon trying to pry at the disembodied hand to place his hands carefully on his brother's shoulders in silent support, even as he looked back to Sephiroth to see his response. The elder man had turned back to them before entering the hallway, but only to shake his head gravely and lift his good arm to point to the dank dark corridor he wanted them to choose. Loz glanced to the other choice, and was surprised at how much lighter it was. He swore he could smell fresh air coming from it, even though the recurrence of the smoking grate floor worried him. He leaned out away from Yazoo to look through the lighter hallway, and saw the bright light coming from the end of it.

Yazoo shifted towards that option, one foot sliding over the floor slowly, his mind not quite made up. Sephiroth took a quick step towards the two of them, not closing the distance, but re-introducing himself to the consideration. He slashed his left arm through the air in negation of Yazoo's words, the movement aggressive and sharp, though his face never once twitched. His hand, once again, pointed to the dark way, the pale skin a sharp contrast against the gloomy backdrop. Loz looked him over, and couldn't quite understand why he was so adamant. After all, he could smell the outdoors the lighter way, and he wanted to get out of this place. Maybe Sephiroth wasn't helping them after all... He felt his brother half turn to face the man.

"You go where you want," he snapped, and Loz was pulled back against his chest in a tight hold that was less embrace than possession. "We are getting out." Loz saw something in Sephiroth's expression shift, the sternness changing as he shook his head quickly, but Yazoo had already turned, and Loz couldn't bring himself to argue with the other boy again. Instead he just turned his eyes forward to the hallway and clung a little tighter to his brother as Yazoo's first footstep echoed on the metal cat-walk of a floor.

Loz only caught a glimpse of movement from behind them before a hand grabbed Yazoo's shoulder right beside Loz's head. His elder brother was jerked back out of the hallway with a fierce pull that almost made Loz fall out of his grasp. Even as Yazoo stumbled back in surprise and started to twist in order to look at the man behind them, a roar came from the hall they'd been about to walk down. The gout of flame that burst upwards from the floor where they'd been standing a moment before was hot enough that it caught the walls and ceiling on fire the moment it touched them. Yazoo's hands lost their grip, and Loz slid down him to stand, still clinging to his brother around his waist, staring at the wall of fire that they would have been standing inside and feeling its heat buffeting against his face. The catwalk was turning red, and the fire just kept pouring upwards.

Yazoo jerked beside him at the sight, and after a moment of staring turned away. Loz followed the motion so he wouldn't fall over, even though he was transfixed by the flame. Sephiroth stood directly behind them, staring at them out of his single, intense eye. He lifted his hand and pointed in the other direction again before turning and walking towards the next hallway. Yazoo stayed standing stock still, and Loz tightened his hold around his thin brother's middle, feeling the older boy's ribs rise and fall too-quickly under his arms.

"How the hell did you know that would happen?" Yazoo snapped fiercely, but up close Loz could hear the panicked, high-pitched whimper lacing the cruel-sounding words. He wondered if Sephiroth could as well, but the man's face was an impartial mask, blemished only by the empty eye-socket when he turned to look at them once more. He gave an elegant shrug in response and gestured again to the dark path. This time, Yazoo stepped forward when Sephiroth did so, and Loz stayed clinging to his side. Sephiroth walked into the dank hallway calmly, no longer leading them in a frenzied flight through the mansion as he had been before. Loz followed at Yazoo's side, and felt the floor start to give under their feet, like wet moss.

"Yazoo," Loz whispered, his voice raw and shaky despite himself, "I wanna go back to mama Strife's house." Loz could feel his brother listening to him, not dismissing him as he would have done only a little while before. One of his elder brother's arms shifted to wrap around the Loz's shoulders and squeeze him gently against his side. The lack of a response was palpable, but it was, at least, better than the stony silence that had been inflicted on him previously. That didn't mean it was enough. It would never be enough. Loz suddenly felt the almost irresistible urge to just lie down and go to sleep, exhausted by the turn the day had taken. Even the fear of being found by Sephiroth-the other Sephiroth, that is-wasn't enough to cut through the weariness that suddenly had hold of him. At his side, he felt Yazoo slumping a little, his grip Loz slipping and loosening. The younger boy lifted his heavy eyes up to look at his brother, even as his vision started to double. Both the Yazoos he saw were slumping, hair falling forward over slim shoulders to hide a face that looked as confused and weary as Loz felt. At least, he thought it did. It was hard to tell, when Yazoo had four eyes and two mouths, exactly what expression he was making.

Loz shook his head quickly, trying to dislodge the feeling of exhaustion, but it refused to leave him. He suddenly got a terrible, sinking feeling, deep in his chest, even as he tried to force his eyes to stay open, that he wouldn't be able to. So he did the only thing he could think to. He inhaled a deep breath, and made himself speak, though he was so sleepy he really just wanted to lay down and rest for a little while. Even Yazoo had slumped to his knees, at Loz's side while the younger boy was thinking, effectively stopping their advance.

"Seph-iroth..." Loz slurred wearily as he felt himself tipping forward, leaning instinctively towards his brother, and landing against his solid chest. It seemed Yazoo was still fighting it, but Loz was just so tired. Yazoo's breaths was slowing, and the cadence of the rise and fall of his chest it lifted Loz's head as he drifted towards sleep.

"Wh-what's happening," he heard his brother mumble. Loz mused blearily on how much younger Yazoo's voice seemed when he was confused. Through the fuzz filling his mind slowly as he lost consciousness, Loz thought he heard just a hint of a frightened whimper coming from his brother, and shifted to put his arms around him, initially to comfort him. It was only after he'd managed the surprisingly difficult movement that he realized it was also an attempt to ease his own inexplicable fear. As his eyes closed again and tried to glue themselves shut, a strong arm wrapped around his middle firmly, but no hand closed over his ribs as one usually would. Loz looked up blearily at the bottom of Sephiroth's jaw, feeling the man's feathery bangs tickling his cheek and neck, and almost fought against the hold before he spied the scarred eye socket on the opposite side of the man's face from him and went still and slack, exhausted, in his hold. When Sephiroth moved his other arm around to circle the elder of the remnants, Yazoo's reaction was much more violent that Loz's had been.

His lithe brother screamed at the touch, and struggled against it, kicking out until he sprawled on the ground. He struggling to stand again before slumping back to the ground with a low, hopeless groan. Even through the sleepy fog covering Loz's mind the boy gave a worried whimper at the sight of his brother's obvious turmoil and pain. Despite his sorrow for his brother, he forced his noodle-like arms around Sephiroth's neck as the man stood. It made him dizzy to be held so high off the ground. His blood seemed to migrate to his feet. He shook his head slowly, trying to fight off the slow, sleepy feeling filling him. Sephiroth took a stride forward, ending up standing beside his fallen brother's head, and Loz blearily tugged on the man's hair, slipping a little in his grasp and grunting when Sephiroth tightened his grip, obviously having a difficult time keeping a hold of him with no hand to augment the grasp.

"Y' can't touch Yaz..." Loz slurred into the musty blanket covering Sephiroth's shoulder. The man made not a sound, but Loz had to cling to him as he bent over. The boy opened his eyes, with a great deal of effort, to watch Sephiroth grab the lapel of Yazoo's leather jacket in his only hand. Loz had to swallow his objections when he looked to his brother's face. Yazoo was terrified, plainly, his mouth open in a silent, pathetic scream, his brows twisted upwards. His eyes were fluttering, rolling back into his head as unconsciousness claimed him. As he faded the floor was starting to swallow his form, the moss only just starting to open up around him. Sephiroth found a grip on the leather and pulled him free, slowly and carefully. Loz watched in stunned, exhausted horror as Yazoo's hair was pulled out of the muck that had swallowed it, and still clung to the silver strands as though trying to pull him back in. Before Loz could see any more, Sephiroth had turned and started down the hall again, dragging Yazoo by the lapel, but keeping his pace even and gentle. Even Loz, who was watching his brother get towed, couldn't blame the man for the obviously disrespectful and uncomfortable position his brother was in. After all, even though he was moving, the moss kept trying to get a grip on his shoes and Yazoo's legs.

Loz moaned softly as his head lolled against Sephiroth's shoulder and his grip around the man's neck loosened, sending him sliding another inch down in his hold. He clenched his teeth, trying to stay awake, because something told him that if he hit the floor he'd be swallowed up before he had any chance of getting saved again. He clung with all his heart and all the power he could muster to Sephiroth, and felt the man's arm like an iron bar around him, trying to hold without crushing. He kept expecting to feel Sephiroth's fingers curl around his ribs to hold him better in place.

Then all of a sudden, the weariness evaporated like a raindrop in a desert, and Loz was dropped unceremoniously to his feet. He didn't even stumble. Just stood there, stock still, as the feeling came back into his limbs and his head cleared so quickly he couldn't even fathom how tired he'd felt before. He looked around, and found himself in the juncture between hallways, and watched Sephiroth release his hold on Yazoo's jacket right before Loz's older brother took a swing at him. Loz winced when he watched his brother's fist whiff through the air without making contact. If he'd actually hit Sephiroth, the man wouldn't have had any hands at all. Instead the tall man had simply let go and backed away. Loz did the opposite and ran over to Yazoo as the other remnant sat up abruptly and ran his smaller fingers through his brother's long hair, ignoring the way the mossy gunk still clung, and flinging away what clumps of it he could comb out.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, and he meant it. He was scared now. Honestly scared. If the other Sephiroth could make them fall asleep that easily, what else could he do to them? Loz' confidence in their ability to escape had dried up. His older brother's breath was quick and panicked, and he'd lifted his hands to run frantic fingers over his chest and neck where Sephiroth had gripped him. Loz's question was answered more by the panicked wheezing breaths escaping his brother and the moss clinging to the back of his neck and trying to worm its way around than anything else. He scraped the stuff off with his small fingers and threw it back towards the other room with a scowl before turning to Sephiroth.

"He knows we're here, doesn't he," he asked as Yazoo's fingers combed frantically through his own hair, fully awake now, but frantic to get the moss off himself. Loz hoped it wasn't hurting him. Especially with the strong hand still clamped over one of his own arms, cutting off the blood flow.

Sephiroth's grave nod was expected, but Loz wished the taller man would look at him. He was looking between the three paths before them, as though trying to choose. Loz swallowed hard before asking his next question, even as he pressed against his elder brother, wrapping his smaller arms around his shoulders and feeling Yazoo calming down slowly, his frantic breathing becoming more even and the fear leaving his face, replaced once more by immovable impassiveness.

"Can we get out?" Loz asked softly, even as he held his brother. "If he knows we're here, won't he just come down and stop us?" Sephiroth looked over out of his whole eye at them, and in his expression Loz could see a dark, grim realism that stopped him from shaking his head to dismiss the possibility of their escape. And yet, he didn't nod either. Loz swallowed hard and turned his face into Yazoo's neck, clinging to him as tightly as he could, knowing the fingers of the inhuman hand on his arm would be digging into his brother's back, but needing the contact. Yazoo inhaled, and Loz was startled to feel his brother's hand snake around to his back. He was still shaking from the unwelcome touch, both of Sephiroth and the sodden floor of the last hallway.

"Keep going," Yazoo said firmly, even as he squeezed Loz once before slipping out of his grip. "No one's ever let us off easy us before. Why should you be any different. Take us down your next damned hallway. Watch us make it." His voice was angry and unrelenting, and Loz felt bad for a moment, before wondering to himself which Sephiroth Yazoo was talking to. He wondered if even Yazoo knew. But he set the question aside, reaching up and taking his older brother's hand, wanting badly to stay in contact with him, but knowing that he couldn't risk slowing Yazoo down. The smell of blood was back in the air, which meant that Yazoo's stab wound from the day before was probably starting to open again. Too little rest, Loz thought with regret. He squeezed his brother's hand, and let himself be relieved that Yazoo was angry now. At least it meant he would be stubborn and resilient. At least he didn't have to worry about seeing him with all the spirit beaten out of his eyes again. Not yet.

Sephiroth was still looking evenly at them. Then, with an utterly solemn look, he pointed left, and started running down the next hall. Loz felt himself following, Yazoo at his side, no more than a beat behind, as spikes rose from the ground behind them. They whipped around the next corner, down another corridor, and another, following the streak of Sephiroth's silver hair and the billow of the too-loose white garment, moving swift as flickers of light through hallways filled with knives and with floors made of broken glass. One was covered in mirrors that showed each of their reflections as the upstairs Sephiroth, and echoed with his laughter. And then they went down a hallway where nothing happened, and at the end there was a door. By the time Loz and Yazoo got there, Sephiroth had opened it, and they were outside.

The first thing Loz saw was that Sephiroth had put on the breaks and stopped suddenly outside the door. He and Yazoo stopped behind him as well, trying not to run into him. Then Loz looked up the rise ahead of them, and saw gleaming silver and black leather. The low, soft laugh that echoed through the air around them froze Loz's blood in his veins.


	19. Interlude Part 1

Chapter Nineteen-Interlude

"Cloud?" Marlene asked over her breakfast, only just remembering to swallow her mouthful of Chocob-O's cereal before talking.

Cloud made what Marlene called his listening sound. It was kind of a cross between a questioning hum and a grunt of acknowledgment. He was worse about it in the mornings, and if the way he looked was any indication he hadn't slept enough the night before. Denzel insisted he still looked cool, even worn out, but Marlene always thought he just looked tired, like he had when the bad things were still happening. It just wasn't all the time anymore. That was a good thing at least. But Tifa would still have pinched his ear and scolded him if she'd heard him make the listening sound. Tifa told Cloud to use his words almost more than she told Denzel to. And she told Denzel a lot. Marlene only realized she had fazed into daydreaming when she realized she was staring dreamily right at Cloud, who was looking back at her in bleary confusion. She turned back to her question quickly, hoping he wouldn't mention the lapse. After all, she liked to be grownup.

"Can I ask a question?" She asked, though knew she didn't really have to say it.

Cloud had never scolded her for asking him something, but sometimes, if it wasn't a question she should ask, he would shut down, and she hated that. She adored Cloud. Her daddy called the quiet man her crazy uncle, but she thought that was silly. Cid was her crazy uncle, but she did love Cloud. He just... scared her too. It wasn't that he was so strong some people thought he was a monster. Marlene had met monsters, and Cloud definitely wasn't one of them. No, it wasn't any of the things some people found terrifying about Cloud's power that worried Marlene. She wasn't even scared of First Tsurugi, though she wasn't allowed to play with it or Fenrir.

All those pieces of Cloud she had practically grown up with, though she could almost hear Tifa teasing her about not being grown up at all yet. She wasn't scared of him. But for being so strong, he was so easily hurt that it was scary. All it took was the wrong, too-invasive question, or the offhanded mention of her lost big sister, or the battles they'd been through.

It wasn't that Cloud was weak, and it wasn't like he curled up in a ball every time they talked about it, but it hurt him and everyone knew it. Cloud had wanted to save everyone, and he still did. Some days, it was just too much for him. She really really really hoped today wasn't one of those days, because she had a question, and she was pretty sure Cloud was the only one who would answer.

"Go ahead and ask, Marlene," Cloud was saying, his voice clear and his eyes on Marlene steady and expectant.

She found it difficult not to give up on her question and give him a hug because she couldn't stop thinking about how sad she might make him, but she really needed to know, so she took a deep breath and faced those solemn, attentive eyes.

"Where do you think they went?" she asked quickly, before she could change her mind.

Her words almost ran together, but if Cloud's enhanced hearing was good for anything, it was understanding her when she went too fast. Her dad just made her slow down and go word by word, and that was annoying. Cloud just sat in his chair, watching her, still and calm. She thought she remembered that he'd been on a long delivery last night, but he was around so much recently that when he did go away, it seemed like a blink of the eye compared to the long absences of only a little while ago. He stayed still for a long moment, and Marlene worried she'd overstepped until his eyebrows furrowed just a little in confusion.

"Where did who go, Marlene?" he asked in his best 'patient' voice.

Marlene flinched a little at her own folly, mentally scolding herself. They'd been so much on her mind recently she'd forgotten that Cloud might not know who she was talking about. She shifted, swinging her legs, and fiddling with her spoon in both hands. She didn't really want to say who, because it was against the unspoken rules of the house, but she really did need to know, and she hadn't been able to talk it over with Denzel. He'd gotten angry and stormed out of the room, and he still hadn't spoken to her since. She swallowed heavily and made herself say it, because the worst that would happen would be that Cloud shut himself away for a little while. It wasn't like saying it would make anything really really bad happen.

"The... The brothers," she murmured, watching Cloud's eyes for recognition. "The, uh, I forget the word..." She mused trailing off with furrowed brows, staring up sadly at Cloud. The man's expression had barely changed.

"The remnants?" he guessed quietly, and Marlene could hear the edge in his voice. She swallowed and nodded slowly, biting her lip.

Cloud sat in silence for a moment, his dazzlingly blue eyes downcast as he thought. Marlene shifted and fidgeted in her seat, wanting badly to drop the topic and run. But her father had always told her that if ever she felt like something needed doing, the only answer was to do it. That was the same way Cloud and Tifa lived too, solving problems as they came up. Marlene wanted to be like them, and she had decided almost since the day they died that this needed doing.

"Why are you asking?" Cloud finally responded, lifting his gaze to look Marlene over.

It had always bothered her, quietly, how little Cloud blinked. He didn't seem to feel the urge nearly as much as she herself did. It was like locking eyes with a cat. Marlene drew her mind from the study of Cloud's eyes to look at her hands as they plucked at each other and twisted awkwardly in her lap. She hadn't stopped kicking her feet yet. With a heavy swallow, she made herself answer.

"They," she muttered, pausing to try and put her thoughts into words, "weren't so bad," she finished, barely above a whisper.

She tried her best to speak without really being heard, but with Cloud as the listener, that was something of an impossible dream. She snuck a glance up at him, and found him still watching her, waiting for an explanation, but not interrupting or scolding her yet.

She had the speech she was going to make all lined up, but it was suddenly feeling very hard to say. She had never spoken to anyone of what happened in the Forgotten City after she'd been stolen from Tifa's side. But Tifa always said that talking about things made them easier to take, so Marlene knew she had to try. She squared her shoulders and lifted what she hoped was a confident gaze to Cloud, and let herself really remember what exactly had happened to her.

"You remember what happened to Tifa," she asked, knowing he did, "when she got attacked in the church?"

"Yes," Cloud responded, his blue eyes hardening a little at the reminder.

"Well," Marlene whispered, swallowing heavily, "It kinda started right after that."

She took a deep breath, gripping the edges of her seat hard, and closed her eyes. The memories of that night seemed to swim up to the surface of her mind, never far from her thoughts recently. She took a moment to steady herself before looking up at Cloud once more and starting to speak.

The hand clamped over her forearm was leaving more than bruises. She could feel it pressing against the bone, threatening to snap her arm like a twig if she made the wrong move as she was dragged through the forest. She'd been carried the first part of the journey, with a hand clamped over her mouth to keep her quiet. Now the man who had attacked Tifa dragged her along behind him, ignoring her completely, the box of materia he'd stolen from Cloud carried under his other arm, though it must have weighed a ton.

She'd given up screaming for Cloud, because now her throat hurt too much to call for anyone, and no one was coming. She had switched to sobbing quietly as she stumbled after her kidnapper, her breath hitching in loud, uncontrolled sobs, and her eyes burning from the tears spilling down her cheeks in salty trails.

"Would you shut up?" The man snapped suddenly, jerking on her arm, sending her stumbling forward.

Marlene cried out in pain at the move, her free hand instantly gripping the leather gloved grip on her forearm. She pulled against it, digging her heels into the ground, trying to pull away from him.

"You're hurting me!" she screamed, her voice cracking with tears and fright.

Quite suddenly, the hand released her. She was pulling back so hard that she fell flat on the ground and got the breath knocked out of her. As she lay there trying to breathe or move, with shock preventing both actions, a heavy thump of something hitting the ground shook the ground under her. An enormous shadow fell across her as her attacker approached. She squeezed her eyes shut and curled up on the ground, certain that it was over for her.

After a few moments passed with nothing striking her, she found she could breathe again, and the pounding of her heartbeat calmed down a little. After a moment more, she risked squinting one eye open to look up at the man who'd hurt Tifa.

He was leaning over her, watching, with eerie green eyes and a faint scowl on his face, no longer carrying the Materia box. With a soft meep, Marlene shut her eyes again and covered her face with her hands, even though she was trying to be brave. After all, Tifa had managed to face the silver-haired man without an ounce of hesitation. Marlene spread two of her fingers and peeked up at those green eyes again, trying to force herself to act like Tifa would.

The man was still watching, but Marlene thought he looked almost confused. His eyebrows were lowered severely, but the scowl on his face looked a little pouty. It was a lot like the look Denzel got when Cloud told him he'd understand something when he was older. It was weird to see the look on a grownup's face-especially a bad guy's-but Marlene was certain she was right. She didn't know a lot, but she knew people.

"Hey," the man's deep voice snapped Marlene out of her consideration and she looked up at him fully, trying to sink back into the ground under her. His eyes were narrowed a little now, and he looked distinctly unhappy.

"Get up," he ordered her, crossing his arms over his chest as he spoke.

Marlene hastened to obey the order. She was trying to be brave, but getting herself killed wasn't her idea of bravery. She stood, shaking like a leaf, and glaring at the man out of burning teary eyes. She swallowed heavily, trying not to think of how thirsty she was and how much she wanted to go home.

"W-what do you want?" she asked, backing away from him a step when he shifted to advance on her. "Where are you taking me?"

The big man frowned and shrugged a little before stepping forward and taking her arm in his hand again. Marlene winced, but no pain came. She looked up in surprise to find he'd switched arms, leaving her bruised one curled against her chest to take the other arm. He tugged at her lightly, and she followed, because it wouldn't do for her to have two hurt arms, pausing only long enough for him to crouch and lift the big box again, as though it were filled with Chocobo down and made of cardboard.

"We're going to my brothers," he answered gruffly, and Marlene stared up at the back of his head as he led her further into the spectral, glowing woods.

He was so tall it hurt her neck a little to look at the back of his head, so she switched to looking around her, straining her eyes in the hopes of seeing some sign of inhabitants she could appeal to for help. But the Forbidden Forest was as empty as ever.

Marlene desperately wanted to run-to fight the man as hard as Tifa had at the church. Holding her back was the knowledge of exactly how strong he was. Her daddy was a strong man too, but this guy was different. He was like the Nightmare, and like Cloud. His wasn't a normal strong.

Despite her attempts to be strong, her stomach gave a bemoaning little rumble. It had been early afternoon when she went to the church with Tifa, and must have been hours later when the man showed up, and now it had been hours more. The sun was setting, leaving the air eerily illuminated by the glowing trees in the purple twilight. Marlene hadn't eaten since breakfast that morning, and she was, admittedly, starving.

To her surprise, her captor gave a soft sigh ahead of her, and she heard an answering rumble. She lifted surprised eyes to him again, and caught him glancing back at her. For a second, she met his gaze, and was startled to see that aside from their weird color, his eyes were human, their pupils rounded and wide in the evening, the light of the trees making strange highlights over the bright green irises. She swallowed hard, and made herself speak again as he pulled his gaze away to turn back to the trail they were walking down, his heavy boots leaving deep tracks in the slightly muddy ground.

"M-My name's Marlene," she whispered as she followed, trying hard not to fall behind his long legged stride in case he decided he needed to pull on her again.

The air fell silent for a while, and Marlene couldn't help but look around her, half desperate for something to concentrate on. She realized that as the sun went down the air seemed to be filling with shining sparkles of dust, illuminated by the twisted, beautiful trees of the forest.

"Loz," came a deep grumble from ahead of her.

She whipped her head around to look at the man, wondering, for a moment, if she'd imagined him speaking. He didn't say anything else, so she swallowed her fear.

"Did you... Say something?" she asked, trying to hide the vicious, unrelenting tremble in her voice.

"My name," the man growled, glancing back over his shoulder at her. "It's Loz. You got a problem with that?" Though his words were sharp, Marlene wondered if she was imagining the sheen of tears in his eyes.

"N-no," she whispered, "It's a nice name."

He grunted in acknowledgment of the statement and hitched the box up further under his arm, jostling Marlene a little with the movement. She bit back the startled squeak that tried to escape her as she almost fell in a puddle. The hand on her arm tightened and lifted her clean off the ground, but before she could scream she realized it didn't hurt this time.

She looked up in surprise as she was placed back on her feet, staring at the rather stern face of her captor, trying to figure out what he was doing. He merely frowned a little, released her arm, and put his hand on the center of her back, pushing her forward carefully as he walked.

"Run and you'll regret it," he warned deeply, the scowl not leaving his face.

Marlene didn't bother telling him that she didn't know where she would run. She just nodded and started walking again, her eyes fixed ahead of her, trying not to watch the leather-clad legs striding beside her, each step accompanied by a soft creak from the supple material of his pants.

For a while she walked and stumbled over the uneven ground without a word, her hands stroking over her knitted shirt and the patterns on her skirt in search of some sort of comfort. She was burning with curiosity, and quiet anger, but she hesitated to do anything that might make the man angry. Still, it would be hard for her to be in more trouble.

"Why did you hurt Tifa?" she asked quickly before she could talk herself out of it.

The form beside her slowed his unrelenting stride just a hint, and she glanced back to see that he had tilted his head to the side in thought, gazing up at the canopy of glowing bare branches, still just barely gilded by the light of the setting sun.

"She wouldn't give us mother," he said at last with a shrug, "and she's been hogging big brother."

Marlene stared at him, halting despite herself, and gaping up at him in disbelief. She shook her head quickly, feeling her braid coming undone a little under the wear and tear of the journey.

"We don't have anyone's mother," she said, appalled by the accusation, "And we definitely don't have any of your brothers!"

The man turned his gaze to her, halting his advance to scowl down at her. She shrunk back despite herself, her indignation melting away in the face of utter fear.

"It's all their fault we have to find Mother at all. You should be happy I let her live this time." He sneered a little at her, tilting his chin up to look down at her, and she swallowed heavily. "And you do have big brother. You were looking for him there, just like me."

Marlene froze, her fear stalling as quickly as her exhaustion did in light of confusion. She shook her head a little.

"Cloud doesn't have a family," she said carefully but firmly, "we're his family. And he didn't have any brothers anyway. He told me he was an only child."

She expected to be snapped at, or to be struck and she tensed to run. She had never planned on the stricken look on her attacker's face, or the tears that spilled down his cheeks, transforming his stern face into a strangely pathetic, childlike expression. His woeful sniffle broke the spell, and Marlene found him at his side holding his leather clad hand before she could think.

"Don't cry," she whispered, "I'm sorry. I know it's lonely. I didn't used to have a family either." Her voice was frantically high, afraid of the man even as she worried at the strange change in him.

"It sounds like Stockholm syndrome," Cloud interrupted for the first time. "It's not unusual for a captive to start empathizing with their kidnapper."

Marlene scowled at him and folded her arms. When he'd stopped talking she stuck a finger out at him and shook it.

"I'm telling a story," she said sharply, "you're not supposed to interrupt."

Cloud raised his hands in mock surrender, though the look in his eyes was anything but mocking. He looked like he wanted to kill the remnant again, which wasn't what Marlene wanted at all. She hastened to continue.

"I'm not crying," the man said, but not as sharply as he had when he'd screamed it into his phone. It still make Marlene wince.

He dropped the heavy box again, and Marlene jumped when it landed too close to her feet, but didn't bring it up, the man was staring at her intently.

"You don't have a mother either?" he asked.

Marlene shook her head silently. She didn't feel like trying to explain that Tifa was as close as she got, and he'd almost just killed her. She didn't want him to know that much about her. And she definitely didn't want to remind him about Tifa if he'd forgotten.

"She died," she said softly.

The man's lip wibbled for just a moment before forming back into the stern, forbidding line, but Marlene could see the angry persona cracking at the edges. She patted the huge, gloved hand she was still holding with one of her own, small hands.

"Th-then you know," Loz muttered under his breath. "We just want her back, and we can't find her..."

Marlene couldn't think of what to say. Part of her wanted to hug the big man, while at the same time she wanted to throttle him for being so stupid. She knew better than anyone that once you lost someone there was no bringing them back. So instead of speaking, she only nodded her understanding, and hoped he'd let it go before she forgot her circumstances and started to argue.

Loz seemed to take the nod at face value, and sniffled, wiping his gloved hands over his cheeks and scowling darkly to himself before hefting the box again. This time he didn't even need to touch Marlene for her to follow at his side. She didn't know where else she would go anyway, and at least if she stayed with the bad guy, Cloud might still find her.

She let the silence drag out between them, though Loz kept muttering to himself now and then. Marlene stayed silent and watched the ground, too worn out to eavesdrop on the quiet monologue taking place beside her.

That weariness dried up like a lonely raindrop in the desert when they emerged into a clearing in the uncanny woods. The first thing Marlene recognized was the enormous, twisting tower of a house, looking like the shell of a giant monster. The instant she saw it, she knew where she was.

Her eyes trailed down to the sparkling water, and she swallowed hard, because she knew exactly what lay down there. Cloud had taken her here once or twice before, for the sole purpose of showing her the pool where Aerith had been laid to rest. She'd sat at the water's edge and talked to her unofficial sister while Cloud moved through the trees like a ghost and Tifa and the others spoke in hushed, guilty tones. It had always been a peaceful place for Marlene, if a sad one.

But this time the grove held no comfort. Standing at the edge of the peninsula that held the house was a slim boy, with hair as bright a silver as Loz's hanging in his face. The moment Loz took a step forward, a piercing gaze darted over to them both, and Marlene recoiled in fear. The slow smile that spread over the boy's slim lips was dangerous and deadly, and before she could think better of it, she pressed against Loz's leg, half hidden behind him.

Marlene stopped her story for a moment, shivering. She didn't like this part in the slightest, and even though it had all turned out okay, the fear still felt as recent and as real as it had on that day.

The sound of Cloud's chair scraping over the kitchen floor snapped her to attention and she lifted her head, worried she'd offended him or driven him off. He stood smoothly, and offered a hand to her.

"Let's move to the living room," he suggested, his voice firm and decided.

Marlene needed no encouragement to jump out of her chair and trot over, taking his hand. She used the time to put her thoughts in order, trying to re-create the time line of that too-eventful night and push her way past the fear of the insane remnant of the Nightmare.

Cloud sat in an armchair in the living room, and Marlene moved to take the sofa before strong, careful hands wrapped around her middle and lifted her into the air. She turned surprised eyes to Cloud as he settled her carefully in his lap, and received a calm, comforting look in return.

"Is that comfortable enough?" Cloud asked.

Marlene nodded at once and leaned her head against his chest, wiggling in his lap to find the most comfortable spot, curling up a little, and not worrying as much about her pointy elbows and knees as she would sitting in Tifa's lap. Cloud could handle a few pointy joints.

"Thank you, Cloud," she muttered.

Cloud hummed softly in response and patted her back a couple times, a little awkwardly. Marlene couldn't help the smile that sprung to her face. Cloud didn't think he was much good at people, and he often believed that he wasn't much of a family man, but for Marlene, the awkwardness of his actions was part of what made them special. It wasn't natural for him to cuddle or touch or encourage, so every time he did, it meant ten times as much as it did with anyone else.

"You were at Kadaj," Cloud prompted softly after a moment had passed, and Marlene took a deep breath before continuing her tale.


	20. Interlude Part 2

Chapter 20-Interlude Part II

The young man, who was without a doubt Loz's brother, approached slowly, with measured, careful steps. He made no sound as he crossed the sandy ground, though Marlene could hear every little shift of her own feet, and Loz's steps crunched loudly. With every step, the younger man's pace picked up, his stalking movements precise and careful.

"You've brought me a present," the younger boy purred, his voice tinged with something halfway between amusement and madness.

Marlene's eyes widened on his predatory movements, watching the sway of his hair and the striped shadows it cast over his pale features, giving the boy an eerie, caged look. Loz simply nodded and moved forward as well, steering Marlene to the bridge of land that connected the forest to the house. Marlene followed wordlessly, trying to keep his bulk between herself and the boy. It didn't work. The moment he was close enough, his sharp, crazed eyes latched onto Marlene, and Loz's younger brother tilted his head.

"Two presents," he corrected himself with a crazed laugh tinting his words, looking Marlene over as though Loz had brought her back for dinner. She cowered despite herself, her mouth going dry. Loz just grunted as he put the metal crate down and opened it up for his brother's inspection.

The light of the matera illuminated them both with green-blue light from beneath, and Marlene caught a flash of a slitted pupil in the uncanny green eyes of the younger boy, hidden by the strands of silken hair swinging in front of his face with every minute movement of his head. With a wicked smile, he bent, lifting a blue, luminous ball of materia in his slim, gloved hand. Marlene tried to pull away from him, as he bent closer, the glow of the magic orbs reflected in his eyes, overwhelming their color, making him look even less human than before.

"Look what brother was hiding," He murmured with a soft laugh as Marlene pulled more desperately against Loz's hold, "Powers forged in the lifestream."

The boy shifted the orb, staring into its depths before turning his hand over and pressing it against his arm. Marlene recoiled even more fiercely at the sight of it sinking down into his leather-clad skin. As he pressed the materia down into himself, black, twisting smoke rose from his arm. Marlene wondered, with a lurch, what was happening to the bone and muscle that was supposed to go where the materia orb now glowed inside his forearm. Her stomach lurched at the thought, and she fought harder still to get away.

"With this materia, those powers will be ours." he purred with a sly smile, his eyes narrowed in pleasure as he inspected the flaring aura around his arm.

"So those are a gift from Mother?" Loz asked, stepping forward towards his brother.

Marlene, desperately, tried one last time to pull away, finding his grip still strong as iron around her. Suddenly she was released. She stumbled away and looked up in surprise. Loz wasn't even looking at her. He was utterly focused on the glow of the box and the young, insane man smiling at the glow surrounding his arm. She stared, mouth open slightly, as Loz walked away, apparently forgetting her presence entirely.

"Yeah," the younger brother half-laughed, "it must be."

Marlene backed away from them, her breath too-loud in her ears, and feeling exposed and endangered in the open glow of the air. Her favorite green shoes made too much sound on the slightly muddy ground next to the twisted ruin of a house, but still neither of the silver haired men so much as acknowledged her presence.

"Then brother's hiding mother too," Loz muttered to himself as he knelt by the materia box, his back still to Marlene as he lifted a materia orb in each hand, admiring the light they gave off.

Marlene shifted a little further back, glancing behind herself, the way she had come. Her heart was thundering in her chest, and her hands were shaking with nerves, but she wasn't about to waste this chance. Part of her wanted to argue with the crazed boy, but something told her he wouldn't listen like Loz had. Maybe it was the way his eyes glinted with madness and how he kept tilting his head to study his newly altered arm with a pleased smile.

"No," He corrected, still not bothering to look at Loz, "it's that Shinra guy. Keeping her hidden is something he and his kind have always been good at."

"Then all we gotta do is check anywhere that has anything to do with Shinra," Loz proclaimed without sarcasm, weighing two of the materia orbs in his hands, looking at them as though mesmerized.

Marlene took another small step backwards, glancing behind herself at the woods she'd come from. She was astonished they hadn't heard the thunder of her heartbeat, which seemed so loud it almost deafened her to their words. But despite that, and the squelch of the ground under her shoes, she was still completely ignored.

"We'll have plenty of help soon," the younger one chuckled as he made the materia in his arm flare again, teeth flashing in the blue light the power cast over him.

"Ahh, I can't wait," Loz muttered before pressing a kiss to the orb in his left hand, looking deeply satisfied.

"First," the crazed boy purred deeply, "we need a word with brother."

Marlene jolted her eyes back up to him, even as she continued to edge away from him. For a reason she wasn't entirely sure of, dread filled her at the words. The teenager sounded like he'd rather kill his so-called 'brother' than talk to him. Marlene glanced to Loz again, wondering if he was going to react at all to that semi threatening statement. He didn't so much as twitch.

"He likes to pretend he isn't part of our family," the boy grumbled, his eyes narrowing in rage as he curled his arm closer to himself.

Marlene saw her moment in the utter distraction of both her assailants, and made a break for it. She whirled from the furious, insane boy and his strangely human brother and ran as fast as she could. Her skirt restricted her movement just a little, and her muscles were sore from a long day of stumbling through the underbrush. She was nearly to the forest. If she could just get inside and loose them she could figure out how to find Cloud. Behind her, the voice of the psychopath smoothly continued.

"How he breaks my heart."

There was a sharp sound, like one of Reeve's electronics backfiring, and Marlene heard Loz exclaim loudly behind her in surprise. It only took her one more hurried step to find out why he yelled. A brilliant blue blaze sped past her, and the heat was so palpable she thought she could feel her hair singing on the ends. When it collided with the tree and exploded, the concussive force of it sent her reeling back with a scream of fear.

The tree seemed to fall in slow motion, but it didn't help Marlene get out of the way. She stared as the glowing mammoth of a tree twisted and fell towards her, her eyes wide and horrified, her hands clasped to her chest. Utterly frozen, she watched the enormous branches fall smoothly, ever closer towards her head. Only when it was about to hit her did the world snap back into motion. It plummeted the last five feet to the ground, one single branch grabbing a lock of her hair as it passed and yanking it out of her scalp with unrelenting force. Marlene stood there, staring at the felled tree without enough breath in her lungs to make a sound.

She took a shuffling half-step back, whirling to look behind her, eyes catching on the stunned looking Loz, meeting his wide-eyed, startled gaze. Behind him, the younger was grinning fiercely and wildly, his hand still extended from firing the shot. As Marlene watched him, horrified and frozen with terror, he gave a little crazed laugh.

"Yeah," he laughed in utter self satisfaction, eyes gleaming with pride from the explosion he'd just caused.

Marlene turned her shocked, terrified gaze back to Loz, who met her look with horror of his own. Even as far away as she was she could see the tears in his luminous eyes. It seemed he hadn't expected the sudden outburst of violence from his brother any more than she herself had. He lowered his arms slowly, turning his luminous, hurt gaze to his brother.

The younger boy had already turned his attention back to his flaring arm, his eyes satisfied and half-lidded. Marlene was dumbfounded by how entirely he ignored the look of betrayal on his brother's face. Loz looked like he had been deeply hurt, though Marlene didn't think the younger brother had actually hit him.

"Keep that with you," the boy purred, jerking his head towards Marlene without lifting his eyes. "Soon they'll be here."

For a moment, Marlene expected fireworks as Loz inhaled, remembering how quickly he had gone from calm and teasing to deadly in his fight with Tifa. A tension filled the air, stretching between the boys, and going completely unnoticed by the younger. Then Loz turned towards her, and Marlene saw that what she had taken for anger was a look of devastation.

The mountain of a man briskly closed the gap between them, his lower lip trembling and his chiseled features set in a determined look and blinking back tears. Marlene trembled under his touch when he set his hand on her shoulder again and steered her around towards the back of the strange house. Her heart hadn't stopped racing after the explosion. Her hands trembled as she walked, and she wrapped them around herself, clenching them in her shirt to try and calm the shaking.

Wordlessly, Loz steered her over to a small outcropping on the side of the shell-like, twisted house and gave her a little push forward before turning and flopping onto the low wall. He looked awkward and unhappy sitting there with his legs splayed out before him, the wall too low for him to bend them comfortably. Marlene stood apart from him a long moment, watching with wide, confused eyes, wanting him to stand up and help her, or at least acknowledge that she might have gotten hurt.

When he didn't move except to hiccup a soft sob, Marlene sagged a little. She couldn't help feeling sorry for him, and it bothered her. She knew very well he had kidnapped her, and hurt Tifa, and by extension hurt Cloud, but watching him get bossed around by the scary one-the tyrant-she felt bad for him.

She slowly shifted, watching to see if he'd snap like his brother had when she edged away before, but he didn't move in the slightest. Glancing up the curved edge of the house, she could still see the smaller brother at the edge of the sacred pool, and almost make out the superior, self-satisfied look on his face. It was that more than her pity that made her shrink back and sit next to Loz. She was so much smaller than him, it was almost exactly like hiding behind a wall.

As she hopped up onto the little shelf, masking herself from the crazy brother's view, she heard Loz give another tragic little sob. Tilting her head, she glanced around his leather-clad form to look at the younger brother. He was enhanced, she was sure, and from her experience with Cloud she knew he could hear his brother crying from where he was. He didn't even bother turning his head, too busy obsessing over the magical fire's reflection in the pure water.

She looked back up at Loz's face, and the scrunched, tragic cast it had taken on. It struck her, suddenly, as very odd that he was still perfectly pale when he cried. there was no splotchy redness on his cheeks like there would have been on hers. It was eerie, and inhuman, and Marlene found herself pitying him again. With one final glance up the curved structure, to the younger boy, she worked up the nerve to try and satisfy her curiosity.

"Why are you doing what he says?" she asked softly, trying to keep her voice down to a whisper, though she thought the younger brother looked preoccupied enough with his own changed arm that he wouldn't care whether she was talking or not.

"Wh-what?" Loz muttered blearily, his striking green eyes lifting to look at her.

"Well," Marlene picked at the embroidery on her skirt as she worked up the nerve, "he isn't very nice to you."

Those green eyes, misty with tears, stared blankly down at her, uncomprehending. She couldn't bring herself to be afraid of that look, dangerous as she knew Loz was. It felt like forever ago she hadn't know his name.

"He's my brother," he said finally, shifting to sit a little straighter, running light, gloved fingers over the metal contraption on his arm, the touch affectionate and absent.

"But he treats you more like a dog than a brother," Marlene whispered, sneaking up another glance at Loz's obviously crazed sibling.

The fierce scowl that suddenly clouded Loz's face made her pull back in fear, her hands rising protectively to her chest. She swallowed heavily, as his eyes blazed angrily at her, her heart thundering in renewed fear.

"Kadaj is never wrong," Loz growled dangerously, "he is smart an' strong an' soon everyone will do what he says. You'll see." His voice wasn't shaking in the slightest, and Marlene could only nod, mutely and vigorously.

Loz backed off at the sign of her agreement, the anger melting off his face as though it had never been there and patting her shoulder clumsily, as if to forgive her for her misjudgment. He turned his gaze away from her again, looking out into the eerie woods once more, as though awaiting something.

Marlene studied him a moment, making sure his rage really had faded before carefully glancing up to the younger brother-Kadaj-again, to see if he'd noted Loz's protective outburst. She had to lean a little forward to see around the bulk of Loz at her side, and she didn't like taking her attention away from him after the moment of ferocity, but he still hadn't actually hurt her. The bruises on her arm ached, as though in reminder that he had, but she ignored them as best she could.

Kadaj stood at the edge of the holy river that flanked the ruin, still as a statue, looking as slender and unearthly as any of the pale trees, his black leather like an inky stain in the pure woods. She followed his gaze down to the water, watching it swirl along its way, glinting under the light of the full moon that hung like a lantern overhead and the pale, shining trees.

She sniffled softly and wiped at her eyes with shaking hands. She felt horrible-exhausted, hungry and lost. The loneliness and worry made her chest ache, and she wondered if Cloud had come back yet, and whether he even knew she was missing. She refused to let her mind wander to Tifa, because it was too much to think she might not be okay.

The big hand that carefully patted her shoulder pulled her out of her thoughts. Lifting her weary eyes to Loz, she found him watching her again, the anger in his gaze completely absent now, his constantly-shifting mood apparently back to pensive now, though he'd stopped crying. She could see herself reflected in his cat-like gaze, sitting this close to him. She sniffled again, and forced her lips to stop trembling long enough for her to speak.

"I want to go home," she whispered softly, hoping deeply that he would understand-that he would just take her away from here and back to Seventh Heaven and she could curl up in Tifa's bed, like she did after a nightmare.

Loz bit his lip as he looked down at her, and she could honestly see him considering it, his pale brows furrowed in worry and consideration. Then he glanced up to Kadaj, and slowly shook his head.

"Not yet," he muttered back, but his hand squeezed comfortingly on her shoulder and his expression was a mixture of sympathy with a hint of worry thrown in.

As the shock of the statement hit, crushing that budding hope in Marlene's chest, her eyes filled with tears, but Tifa wasn't there to comfort her, and Cloud wasn't around to awkwardly grope for the right words to say to make it better. Her dad would have just tugged on her braid and told her to buck up. In that moment, she was suddenly filled with homesickness, and wished fervently she was out searching for oil with her father.

Without much thought, Marlene scooted closer to him, pressing against the unnaturally warm leather he wore, and letting it chase away at least the exterior chill for a moment, though it did nothing to ease the cold feeling in her bones. Only a moment later, Loz gave her a careful squeeze. The delicate motion made her feel slightly cherished, and she slowly relaxed, blinking back the tears once more.

As inhuman as he seemed, snuggled so close against Loz, Marlene could feel the man breathing, and see the little imperfections on his skin. The leather he wore was supple and soft, despite his imposing appearance. He smelled like motor oil and dirt, with a hint of metal mixed in. As she thought about it, tilting her head to rest it against Loz's broad shoulder, he smelled a lot like her dad did after a long day at work.

Loz's even, deep breaths were soothing, and the warmth of his hold kept the chill of the night air at bay. Her legs and feet were sore, and she was very hungry, but sleepiness was slowly winning out against her other woes. At least in comparison to being around his little brother, being near Loz felt very safe.

"I'm sorry, " Loz rumbled suddenly at her side, sounding slightly choked up.

She lifted bleary eyes to look at him, trying to focus on him. She rubbed the sleep from the corners of her eyes and blinked a few times to clear them, but his expression still didn't tell her much.

"Why?" she asked sleepily.

"You shouldn' be here," the big man sighed. "I'm really sorry."

Marlene stared at him a long moment, her eyes much clearer now. She took in the tears on his cheeks, and the way his lower lip kept trying to tremble, before looking up to his eyes. His gaze was pinned on the young man standing by the water's edge, who giggled softly to himself as Marlene watched, as if he'd just thought of something funny. The sound stirred a pure dread in Marlene that shot straight down her spine, and she stiffened in Loz's hold.

"What's he going to do to me?" she whispered to the man against whose side she was nestled.

"I dunno," Loz answered with a little shrug, not moving his gaze from the other boy.

"You won't," She swallowed heavily, her voice catching in her throat, "let him hurt me, will you?"

Loz paused for a long moment, glancing down to her. She met his gaze, searching for reassurance and finding none. Slowly, he looked back up to his younger brother, and Marlene saw the look on his face soften to one of loving affection, with just the slightest hint of yearning. Loz's brows twisted upwards as he watched the younger boy smile wickedly over some internal joke, and Marlene knew right then that the answer was 'no.'

Before the reality of that response-or the lack of one-had time to settle in her mind, the faint rumble that had been echoing in the woods started to get louder, and resolved into the grumbling roar of a poorly maintained engine. Kadaj jerked his head up, making his hair swing around his face, watching the edge of the woods with an expectant, pleased look, his lips curling into a sly smirk.

In opposition to his reaction, Loz hunched over and scowled, locking his gaze on the ground.

"Stay close to me," he muttered to Marlene, offering no explanation as to why before falling back into silence.

An indignant rage suddenly welled up in Marlene, and she ducked out of his hold, whirling to face him and stomping her foot. Her fists clenched at her sides and she squared up a little, inhaling deeply.

"No!" she yelled sharply at him, pitching her voice the way Tifa did when she and Denzel were really in trouble. The word echoed off the white wall behind Loz, and she was gratified to see him jump a little.

"Why should I?" she continued before he could interrupt, each word bellowed at the top of her voice, "I just want to go home!"

The sound of the engine stopped suddenly, very close by, and Loz, who was staring at her like she'd grown a new head, stood abruptly. Marlene drew back automatically as he turned his full attention to the land-locked side of the peninsula, his expression grim and dark.

Marlene took another step back, staring up at him in alarm. He looked like he had in the church-foreign and alert with a hint of anger. He'd looked like that right before he invited Tifa to 'play,' and everything in Marlene that knew she was not a superhero screamed that now was the time to set aside anger and run. But then, the last time she had tried that, it had not ended well.

A car door slammed shut, and before Marlene could so much as blink-much less make a decision-Loz vanished in a blue blur only to reappear at her side, holding one of her shoulders tightly and pulling her close to him. With a startled cry, Marlene put her hands against his leather clad leg and pushed against it, trying to distance herself from him. Loz didn't budge in the slightest, or even seem to notice her struggle.

She shoved harder against him to no avail, grunting softly in effort. When he still failed to move, she lashed out in frustration, kicking at his ankle and gasping when she only managed to stub her own toe. Loz still ignored her completely, but a soft, burbling chuckle echoed through the trees, catching Marlene's attention and making her turn.

There was no mistaking the young man who walked out of the forest for anyone but the third brother Loz had mentioned. The silver hair that fluttered as he strode forward was as uncanny as any of his brother's. Green eyes blazed from a relaxed, hooded gaze and a quiet, demure smile hovered on his lips. He was slim and almost as tall as Loz, walking smoothly an quickly over the ground towards them, the faintest stalk detectable in his easy stride.

"Aww," he said with a laugh still in his low, strong voice, "Does she not like you?"

Loz stiffened beside her, and pulled her a little closer in answer. Marlene pushed automatically against the too-tight hold with a little whimper. The slim man laughed again, derisively, as he approached.

"Don't cry, Loz," he said with contempt in his amused tone.

"I'm not crying," Loz snapped in return, the reply sounding almost automatic.

"Mmm," the slim one snickered to himself. "Not yet."

He bent over, his hair falling over his shoulders as he folded, bringing himself to eye level with Marlene. She swallowed hard as she was pinned by that lazy gaze, unsettling green peeking out of hooded eyes. His gaze reminded her of a zolom she saw once, before her daddy killed it. A calm sort of predatory look, as though at any moment he could lash out, but he was willing to take his time.

"Are you scared?" he asked, his deep voice low and so relaxed it was almost a drawl.

Marlene swallowed hard, not answering, drawing back against Loz, though she was not fond of him either. Something about this willowy boy and his empty eyes unnerved her deeply. He was the least animated of them-even bent over to look at her, he was terrifyingly still. The faint smile on his lips didn't change in the slightest, neither growing nor falling away, but stuck in place. He straightened, his gaze still locked on Marlene.

"Good. You should be," he said, the angelic smile on his lips only widening benevolently.

"Yazoo," called a higher, boyish voice, not in welcome but in command.

The lithe one turned away from Marlene and Loz as though they no longer existed to walk over to Kadaj, who approached only a few steps in return, halting before him. Something in Marlene was briefly bothered by the lack of any brotherly embrace or affection between them, but as she tilted to see them, she could see sudden emotion on the thin one's face, even as Loz started shaking beside her, growling lowly under his breath. Yazoo's eyes, which had seemed so dead to her only a moment before, lit up when he looked at his younger brother, and the smile dimmed, no longer predatory, but honest, and adoring.

"I hate him," Loz growled beside her, under his breath as he trembled in rage.

Marlene looked up in surprised fear to him, finding tears shining in his eyes once again and rage twisting his lips into a snarl.

"I hate him so much," Loz hissed, still in a whisper, his hand tightening on Marlene's shoulder pulling a whimper of pain from her.

She looked over to the tight grip on her arm with wide eyes, shivering as well, for an entirely different reason. She stared at the gloved fingers digging into her unprotected arm and bit her lip to keep herself silent, frightened to draw attention to herself when Loz was so very angry. A soft laugh sounded, and she recognized the crazed note as belonging to the younger brother. Loz's hand instantly loosened, resting easily over her bruised shoulder, and she looked up in surprise to see her captor gazing in silent awe at his little brother.

"I trust it all went smoothly," the little brother was saying without any real interest in his voice.

"It did," Yazoo breathed, his voice softer and less assertive than it had been.

"How many did you bring?" Kadaj asked, with excitement straining the edges of that smug voice, making him sound younger quite suddenly.

"Thirteen this last trip," Yazoo answered instantly, "that makes thirty seven all together."

Kadaj clicked his tongue, and almost faster than Marlene could see, he lashed out, left hand striking Yazoo hard across his face. Marlene gasped shallowly at the ringing crack that echoed through the small clearing. Loz let out a muffled, triumphant chuckle as the thin man's head jerked to the side.

"There are at least six times that many with the stigma," Kadaj snapped, his voice frozen with fury, and a blue halo of light surrounding him as the materia reacted to his rage.

"I'm sorry, Kadaj," Yazoo murmured without lifting his head, his voice still smooth and unperturbed.

"You are," the younger brother barked with conviction. "When I send you to do something, I expect it to be done correctly."

"It won't happen again," the older man brother stated calmly, though Marlene could see his hair flickering in the moon's cast off light, as though he were shaking.

As sudden as the slap had been, Kadaj's mood shifted just as quickly. His stance relaxed, and the vicious glow in his eyes and arm dulled. The same gloved hand he'd used to hit his brother lifted as the wreath of blue flames dissipated, and gently touched the cheek he had so recently slapped.

Marlene couldn't see Yazoo's face, but she saw the small, stifled way he recoiled from the touch. His shoulders stiffened under his pauldrons, and his knees bent, wrinkling the long tail of his leather coat. Kadaj either didn't notice his discomfort or didn't care.

"Ah well," Kadaj said, his young voice benevolent and condescending, "It doesn't matter. That should be more than enough to find Mother."

His eyes turned away from his brother even as his hand brushed lazily up and down his cheek, ignoring him despite the touch. Marlene stared in awe, still clenched too close against Loz's side, as the elder brother leaned a little further away from that touch, his long hair canting to the side as he withdrew.

"Those idiots at Shinra won't be able to hide her much longer anyway," the boy muttered to himself as he went back to ignoring the man in front of him, though he didn't remove the gentle, unwanted fingers from his brother's face.

"Yes, Kadaj," Yazoo agreed softly, holding stock still, stiff as a tree himself under his brother's hand, his voice tight and strained, but submissive.

Kadaj dropped away the hand, turning back to the water. Yazoo seemed to sag, just a little, with relief, and Marlene followed Kadaj's gaze across the stream to where a gaggle of ragged looking kids was gathering. The youngest brother turned fully away, both Loz and Yazoo apparently forgotten, and strode towards the far end of the beach they stood upon to stand opposite to the children. Marlene could tell that every molecule of his attention was fixed on the group across the river from them, and she felt a fresh rush of fear.

Beside her, Loz started moving towards Kadaj, his rage dissipated as though it had never existed and drawing her along with him. She stumbled as she was forced, by the tight grip, to try and match his enormous stride. As he walked up to Yazoo, he snickered again, and Marlene couldn't resist the instinct to tilt forward and peek at the other brother, even as she wiggled in an attempt to free herself from Loz's grip.

Yazoo was staring at the ground with an empty, haunted look, the superior smile she'd seen on him before missing from his pale lips. Up close, she could see that she had been right, and the lanky silver-haired man was shaking in small, tense bursts of movement. Marlene vaguely recognized the motion as one she'd seen Yuffie make, after being confronted with a large spider. It was a motion of pure disgust, and try as she might, she couldn't figure out the reason behind it. As she and Loz grew closer still, the willowy man raised a gloved hand to wipe over his own cheek, the movement too sharp to be self-comfort. It was more like he was wiping some residue off his skin.

"You made him angry," Loz sing-songed softly in a nasty, teasing whisper, apparently trying to hide the words from the little brother sizing up the group of children ahead of them.

Yazoo jerked his head up, and Marlene watched the empty expression fall at once from his face to be replaced by a nasty sneer. She almost flinched at Loz's lack of tact. If it had been Denzel looking that hurt, she'd have tried to comfort him. But then, she wasn't jealous of Denzel, and she was starting to get the feeling that the two older brothers were less than fond of one another.

"At least," Yazoo was hissing coldly, "he notices me." The ugly sneer fell off the beautiful brother's face as he spoke, replaced by that same smug, aloof smile he had born before. "You know, instead of pretending I don't exist, like he does with you."

Marlene could feel Loz stiffen beside her and drew in a breath. If they were going to fight, then maybe she could-

"Loz, Yazoo," an amused voice called, cutting through the tension in the air, as the youngest brother apparently grew tired of waiting.

Neither of his elders wasted a moment in responding to the call, breaking the heated confrontation without a second thought and sweeping over to his side. They positioned themselves behind the youngest and to either side, forming a fierce triangle, with Marlene still held tightly against Loz's leg, her chance to escape once again ripped from her by the sadistic Kadaj.

Marlene paused in her story, taking a deep breath and curling up a little more in Cloud's lap, where she'd all but melted against his warm, strong chest.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, wiping at the tears on her cheeks, "I'm getting your shirt wet."

"It's a shirt," Cloud said flatly with a shrug, though from the way he shifted Marlene guessed he'd been uncomfortable with the silent tears for some time.

"Still," she muttered, tracing her finger down the soft tank top Cloud always wore.

He shook his head and lifted one hand from the arm of the chair to pat her head lightly a couple of times, the motion overly careful. She let out a gentle, contented puff of air at the contact, letting it warm her a little from the chill the story was putting in her heart.

"It's just saltwater," the blonde warrior said matter of factly.

"Yeah," Marlene sighed as she plucked at his shirt absently, "but still..."

Cloud just shook his head, shifting just a little before falling still again, jostling Marlene for a moment, but not badly. The young girl couldn't help but smile to herself as she felt him shift. It spoke to how seldom Cloud let one of them snuggle like this that he didn't know it would work better if he lifted her a little first. At least, that's what her dad did.

At the thought of her father she gave a little sigh. She couldn't wait to see him again, but she knew she wouldn't be able to look him in the eye without finishing what she had started with Cloud. As though sensing her reluctance, Cloud tilted his head to meet her eyes with his own unnaturally blue irises.

"We can take a break," he offered solemnly.

Marlene shook her head and gave a weak imitation of her sunny smile. It was sweet of him to offer, but she was pretty sure they both knew that if they stopped now there might not be another good time for quite a while. With Cloud around more often, the Strife household was almost always bustling.

"I'm okay," she said, trying to make the words sound strong, though she wanted to sigh them so Cloud would snuggle her again as best he could.

Instead he just nodded his understanding of her words, and she thought she felt a faint approval in the move, which was really better than a snuggle from Cloud. He could be so serious it was difficult to get praise from him, though he was never cold or cruel. She swallowed, closing her eyes to try and fit back into her memory.

"Denzel told you about the black water, right?" Marlene asked after a long moment, "About what Kadaj did?"

"He told me," Cloud said, his voice soft but holding an edge like steel, "but he lost track of you after I crashed Fenrir."

Marlene resisted the urge to hug him tightly in praise for brushing over the perceived failure. She'd been impressed with his driving skills, when he managed, by bare inches, to avoid flattening Denzel and herself. He had been disappointed that he'd had to crash to do it.

"Good," Marlene sighed, nodding against him. "I don't remember everything he said anyway."

"But after that?" Cloud questioned softly. "I always wondered how you found me."

"Yeah," Marlene muttered, pressing closer still against Cloud's chest, feeling the almost unnatural heat of his skin even through the knitted shirt. "That's the important part."

"I'm listening," Cloud said calmly, and Marlene gave a soft, contented sigh at the utter honesty in his voice before continuing her story.

Marlene watched, wide-eyed, from the bushes as Cloud fought with the three brothers. She was surrounded by terrifyingly still children, standing around the battle like silent sentinels, their horrible, inhuman eyes gazing dead ahead. Seeing Denzel with those eyes had been too much. The moment he had released her hand from that horrible grip which had been almost Loz-like in its strength, she had run away from him. She'd felt like a coward doing it-abandoning him to the trio-but he wouldn't listen.

The fight had been deadly from the very first, but when Cloud rocketed out of the treetops towards Kadaj, Marlene had gasped in sheer horror at the reckless move. The slim brother just smiled as he swept his sword, deflecting Cloud, then constantly slamming his strange, two-bladed sword down on First Tsurugi again over and over, keeping Cloud off the ground and filling the air with the ring of metal on metal.

Marlene covered her ears, even as she shifted to get a better view, waiting for Cloud to hit back and for it to be over, even as she glanced over, worriedly, to see Loz and Yazoo striding back from the wreckage of the tree towards the fight once more. Loz looked extremely pleased, in a way that chilled her to the bone. She'd heard Kadaj call Cloud their 'brother,' and from the way they were acting, she was pretty sure that was not a good thing.

A gunshot sounded, but neither of the older brothers she was watching had fired it. She tore her eyes away back to the battle in time to see Cloud hit the ground hard, collapsed in a heap. From where she stood, she couldn't see his face. A few feet away from him, Kadaj landed delicately, whipping his head up to look around.

When the swath of red fabric descended from the sky, Marlene gave up on understanding anything that was going on. She took distant comfort in that, though the thing had landed over Cloud, it was firing at the brothers, and they seemed mightily displeased by it.

Yazoo dodged with a twirl and started firing at the thing, his shots on target, but ineffective. Marlene gasped as she felt something whiz by her cheek, knowing it was a stray bullet, and chilled by the closeness. It was like they had completely forgotten there were children watching them fight. She glanced back to make sure the boy standing creepily still behind her hadn't been hit.

When she turned back, satisfied by the lack of blood, she gasped as the cape, and Cloud, vanished through the trees. Kadaj made a fierce noise of frustration, staring after them before whirling on his brothers.

"Find him," he snapped before turning in a circle to address the entire woods, "all of you!"

When the kids standing behind Marlene ran, with inhuman speed and impossible jumps, she ran too, though she wasn't near as fast as they were. Her legs burned in exhaustion, still not recovered from the long walk with Loz, and adrenaline making her weak even as it fueled her flight. Her feet stung horribly with every step, but she didn't let it slow her down. She closed her eyes for a moment as she ran, imagining that she was her dad during the days when Avalanche was fighting. It was surprisingly easy to imagine that she was running from Sephiroth.

She lost track of how long she'd been running, and had lost track of how many steps she'd taken, though she usually tried to count. She tripped on a root and just barely managed not to fall, catching herself with a stumble and pressing forward, her breaths coming in staggering, pained gasps. Her chest was starting to hurt, and she'd long since lost track of any other kids that she might have been following. The sound of her own blood pounding through her ears deafened her to any other footsteps.

"Go back!" a voice suddenly barked to her left.

She jerked, gasping and kicking back from her latest step, wrenching her knee and stressing already exhausted muscles into pushing her away from that voice. Pressing against the nearest tree, shaking and panting, terror gripping her.

Almost as soon as her back touched the tree, four of the strange, empty-eyed children slid past her, quick as shadows, barely making a rustle in the underbrush as they passed. She shrunk closer to the tree, gasping for breath and trying to stay on her feet, her fingers clenching into impotent fists as they flickered into the darkness of the forest, beyond the glowing trees that surrounded her and into the shadows of those farther away.

For a moment, after their passing, all was silent, save for Marlene's hitching breaths. Then she heard the footsteps.

They weren't as loud as they had been in the church, but it was that same, unhurried stride, muffled by dirt and plant life. She lifted wide, terrified eyes as Loz approached her through the glowing trees and the underbrush, trying to make her eyes focus. She wanted to scream, but that would just draw the others, and she didn't have the breath to do so anyway. She'd tried so hard. She squeezed her eyes shut as he approached, trying to be brave, but her courage worn down by the long night, tears slipping down her burning hot cheeks, and a whimper escaping her lips.

A moment passed, and then a leather-glad finger, still warm, even on her overheated skin, traced delicately over one of her cheeks, wiping away the tear.

"Don't cry, Marlene," the biggest brother said, his voice soft and a little sad, with just an edge of weary misery himself.

Marlene wanted to kick him. What right did he have to be unhappy? She opened her eyes to give him a glare, but she couldn't quite muster the energy to keep the angry look long, sagging a little and leaning heavily against the tree, still unable to catch her breath, and the overexertion starting to catch up with her. Loz crouched before her, his knees hovering just above the dirt without touching, and nearly on eye level with her. He was wearing his faint, thoughtful frown again.

For a long moment, the silence stretched, and Marlene slowly regained some of her breath, feeling dizzy and strange from the long run, and certain she was going to be toted back to the psychopathic brother at any moment. But when Loz didn't make a single move, she slowly turned her gaze back to him to find him watching her with sad, worried eyes.

"I," she whispered after a moment, aware her voice was bordering on a whine "wanna go home."

Loz stared at her evenly out of his eyes, his pupils shrinking and widening despite the unchanging light as he considered. She watched him swallow and glance over his shoulder, his brows furrowing slowly in consideration.

"You're lucky," he whispered after a moment, and Marlene bristled.

He thought she was lucky? After everything he and his brothers had put her through? After what he'd done to Tifa? After his brother had hurt Cloud? She very nearly spat in his face, but he kept talking before she could.

"Big brother came to save you," he whispered, reaching out a hand to run it over her hair, smoothing the wild strands back into place, the touch nervous and gentle, as though he wasn't sure he wouldn't hurt her. "He said 'the children,' but he meant you, didn't he."

Marlene swallowed hard, staring at the wistful look on his face. He looked almost like he was daydreaming, though he did, at least, appear to be paying attention to her. She forced herself not to duck away from the touch, daring to let a faint hope flare in her chest, and forcing herself to answer, her voice breathy.

"Me an' Denzel," she agreed softly, hoping it wasn't the wrong answer, unsure what would set off the almost random anger she'd seen in Loz before.

"Denzel," Loz muttered, "you called out to him. He's one of our brothers too."

"He's my brother," she answered quickly before wincing, hoping he didn't just decide that made her his sister.

Instead he frowned a little, casting his strange gaze to the ground, his silver hair glinting in the light. For a long moment, he thought, before he looked up again.

"I wish you were one of us too," he murmured, almost to himself. "Then at least someone would like me," He shrugged once, the movement slow and hesitant, "a little."

Marlene paused before lifting a hand to touch his cheek, almost recoiling at the heat of his pale skin, and the crawling sensation that went up her arm, but forcing herself not to. Her fingers shook against his skin.

"I'm not," she whispered, her brows turned upwards in sorrow. "Please let me go."

For a moment, silence fell again, and then Loz nodded slowly, a tear slipping down his cheek.

"Big brother is that way," he whispered, lifting a hand to point. "It's not far now. I'll... I'll tell my brothers I couldn't find him." He lowered his eyes again. "That won't be hard to believe."

Marlene turned her eyes in that direction, dropping her hand from Loz's cheek, hope giving her back the breath to start running, which she did at once. She paused once, at the next tree, looking back over her shoulder hesitantly.

Loz stood where she'd left him, looking tall, and strong, and alone. He was watching her with sad eyes, his lips pressed together, but turned down at the corners. His hands lay loose at his side, unfisted and unthreatening. For just a moment, she felt her heart hurt for him, and she forced herself to turn around and give him a little, hesitant bow.

"Thank you, Loz," she whispered.

"G'bye, Marlene," he whispered back, "I hope we can play again."

She turned back to the forest and ran as fast and as hard as she could. As her legs pumped, leaving Loz behind her, she caught just a glimpse of black in the forest and turned her head, her eyes catching on the tall, slim brother who had mocked her. She faltered, and almost fell, freezing in place for a moment, frozen like a deer in headlights under that bright green gaze.

Yazoo stared at her for a long time with his unreadable expression firmly in place before turning away without a word and vanishing like a flicker into the woods. It took her a long moment to unfreeze and start running again, waiting for the moment the slim brother would pounce and rip her hope of freedom away, but he never did, and though she thought her lungs would burst before she made it, she only had to burst through one last set of bushes before she was safe against Cloud's leg, her fingers clenching in the soft fabric of his pants.

She never saw Loz or his psychotic brothers again. By the time Denzel came home, his eyes were human again, and it was like he'd never been that eerie statue. When big sister called them all to the church, she knew that the brothers who had scared her so badly, and yet left her unharmed, were gone. At the time, she'd been so busy running, eager to see Cloud again and hug him so tight he couldn't get away from their family that she hadn't even thought about it.

"It wasn't until a little while ago I started wondering," she said, aware she was crying on Cloud's shirt again, but not even offering to get off him this time. "I know they were bad, and they weren't human but" She shifted a little, pushing back to look Cloud in the eye, though she knew she must look horrible, with her eyes all puffy and red, "they didn't have to let me go."

Cloud gazed at her for a long moment, his eyes soft and with a hint of fear, realizing only now, she knew, how close he had come to losing her. She didn't blame him for not having considered it before. It would only have hurt him to think about it, and she knew she had hurt him by telling him the story. She only hoped she hadn't been wrong, and he would understand.

Cloud's arms wrapping around her wasn't something that happened often, and the sheer warmth of the hug he pulled her carefully into was enough to make her catch her breath. He held her close against his chest, his head bowing to press gently against hers, the contact slightly nervous, as ever, as though Cloud feared he'd forget at any moment how to control his strength. She melted into the touch, throwing her own arms around his strong neck and sobbing into his shirt.

"I'm sure," he murmured after a long moment, making Marlene stifle her sobs, sniffling, to listen to him, "Aerith will give them a chance."

"You really," Marlene paused to sniffle again, wiping one hand over her burning eyes, "think so?"

"Yes," Cloud answered, relaxing the hug to pull back and give her a hesitant, soft smile. "I do. She and Zack-" he glanced to the ceiling, as though addressing them individually, "they're all about second chances."

Marlene smiled widely and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck again, snuggling against his chest, feeling a burden lift off her at his words. Behind her the door opened, and she heard Tifa walk in, calling her customary 'I'm home!' to the world at large, grocery bags crinkling in her grip. Upstairs, the floorboards creaked as Denzel finally levered himself out of bed for the day. Under her, she could hear Cloud's heartbeat, strong and steady, and smell the faint, sandalwood cologne he put on in the mornings. His chest vibrated as he called a 'welcome back,' to Tifa, the words sounding almost foreign from his lips.

She closed her eyes, cocooned in home, and family, aware her father would be back any day from his latest trip, bringing with him Cait Sith and Red XII, who were to help him sniff out the best places to dig. Not long after that, she was sure, Cid would come visit from rocket town, dragging Vincent and his new cellphone along for the ride, with Yuffie probably following excitedly at their heels. Reeve might even make an appearance in person.

As she heard Tifa's exclamation of surprise at finding her cuddled with Cloud, she gave a soft, relieved breath. If things could work out for her damaged, broken, strange family, maybe it wouldn't be so hard for the brothers to be happy too.


	21. Chapter 21

Yazoo ran quickly on the balls of his feet, his muscles burning. He was sprinting hard-a wild sort of run that, with one faulty step, would turn into an inelegant and painful tumble. Yazoo wouldn't miss a step. The possibility barely even occurred to him. The door ahead of them was different from the others. he could feel it. Through that door, it would finally be over. They would be out of this mansion, and safe, and he could get Loz away from the broken man he'd picked up, and they would be gone.

The door flew open before them, and the light of day washed over Yazoo's already damaged vision, blinding him. He recoiled a little, halting the momentum of his sprint, and stopping him a little too sharply for comfort. His booted feet skidded a little on the leaf-littered ground.

When he opened his eyes again, his gaze was immediately drawn to the top of the hill, where a dark splotch stood out against the backdrop of the forest. His eyes landed on the form, and he saw a glint of silver hair, and the faint light of eyes which should have faded into the background and instead seemed to glow. His eyes widened on the impossible presence, and then he clenched his them shut, and tried to will it away.

In that moment with his eyes closed, it seemed to Yazoo the entire world went still. There was no whisper of wind over the ground and through the trees, no birdsong in the forest around them-even his heartbeat seemed to halt for a moment in the silence. His companions were still as statues, Loz's leather not creaking once, despite his fondness of fidgeting. Even the mouldering white cloth shrouding him lay still, not so much as flickering. Yazoo himself didn't breath-couldn't breathe.

A sound as sharp as thunder broke the silence, making Yazoo jump violently and squeeze his eyes shut tighter still, wishing for that empty oblivion he'd had before so he wouldn't have to see. A second thunderclap of noise, as abrupt and sharp as the first, split the air around him, making him flinch once more. With the third, Yazoo forced his eyes open, staring at the ground with a fixed gaze. He forced his head to lift, looking over the leafy, dead ground. Even though he knew it wasn't possible, he was hoping he had only gone mad for a moment, and the ground would be uninterrupted all the way to the horizon.

Instead, his gaze fell up on a pair of supple, shining black leather boots. He knew those boots. He'd kissed those boots while a hand, tangled in his hair, had held him down. He could still remember the taste of the smooth surface, and the pain that followed as the foot he was attending to lashed out across his cheek.

A fourth sharp sound, and Yazoo lifted his gaze from the man's feet, over black clothes and silver buckles, to the gloved hands which slapped together again as he watched in a slow parody of applause. Yazoo felt his blood run cold in his veins. This couldn't be happening. They'd escaped-they were supposed to have escaped.

Sephiroth's calm, relaxed presence before them, in all his leather-coated glory, crushed that dream into dust. Yazoo flinched as Sephiroth clapped once more before letting his hands drop, shaking his head slowly, a condescending and amused look on his face.

"What a touching performance that was," he sneered, eyes narrowed in amusement.

"You," hissed Loz to Yazoo's right, moving forward aggressively one step before freezing again.

Yazoo glanced over for one moment to his little brother, watching him tremble, caught between paralyzing fear and helpless rage. Yazoo wanted to grab him-pull him close and just run. It wouldn't work. Sephiroth was faster, and unlike his smaller clones, he wasn't bruised, and dirty, and tired from navigating the mansion turned nightmare behind them.

The figure in white swayed in front of them, just once, as though he would fall. Yazoo tried not to look at him, fixated on the threat and edging backwards towards the still-open door. His back hit a wall, and he turned his gaze for one moment to the solid bricks against which he was pressed, where there had only moments before been an open hallway.

"However," the applauding Sephiroth said, drawing Yazoo's wide, panicked eyes back to him, "I do wonder what you hoped to accomplish."

He started approaching, slowly and smoothly, the faint smile still painted on his perfect face. He was the picture of strength and confidence, his hands empty of Masamune, but more than enough of a threat without the blade.

Loz stiffened and straightened out of the defensive crouch he'd fallen into. Yazoo felt the sudden urge to dart forward and grab him before he could make their situation worse but he was paralyzed in place against the wall. He could still feel Sephiroth's leather-clad fingers on his skin, invading his mouth, as a twisted appetizer. The bruises from their last encounter still ached under his clothes. His sight flickered as he sagged against the wall, his hair catching in the bricks behind him, overwhelmed and breathless with memory.

"W-we're not going to g-give into you again," Loz called out, his shoulders back and his eyes fierce, fighting the stutter that gave away his fear. "You can't hurt us if we don't let you."

"Oh?" Sephiroth chuckled indulgently, eyes widening a little, their too-pale irises catching the light, "and what gives you that idea?"

"I-I..." Loz stuttered, floundering for a moment before stiffening up again, thrusting his shoulders back once more and puffing his little chest out, "I just know!"

"Ah," Sephiroth said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur, "I'm sorry to shatter your illusions then."

Sephiroth moved forward in an aggressive rush of silver and black. Yazoo flinched away from the movement, shutting his eyes tightly, and steeled himself for the pain. It wasn't until he heard his brother cry out in an abrupt, cut-off scream that he even considered the man might not have been after him.

With a rush of terror deeper than any fear of pain, he whipped around to stare. Loz was dangling off the ground, suspended only by the grip Sephiroth had around his neck. The man wasn't even bothering to use two hands. He smiled up at Loz in amusement as the boy's feet kicked helplessly against the hold, waving through thin air, and his own, smaller hands scrambled for purchase on the leather glove strangling him.

"No!" Yazoo cried instantly, his fear for himself forgotten, kicking off against the wall to catapult himself towards Sephiroth, the urge to kill him overpowering his common sense.

Sephiroth's eyes slid over to him with a smile in their depths, and Loz made a pathetic gagging sound as his strangle hold tightened before Yazoo struck. He hit hard, fist colliding with Sephiroth's unguarded solar plexus and met unforgiving muscle. Despite his strength, Sephiroth gave a grunt at the contact, and Yazoo pressed his advantage, kicking high and fast, aiming for the man's head.

His foot whiffed through the air where Sephiroth had been a moment before, and he had to jerk the kick back quickly to regain his balance after the miss. Loz collapsed on the ground beside him, coughing and retching. Once, Yazoo would have been able to look down and gauge the damage, but he didn't have enough eyes to keep track of Sephiroth and his little brother at the same time.

Sephiroth was laughing, richly, even as he settled slowly to the ground, seeming to take too long for gravity to be acting properly on him. If anything, he looked even more pleased than he had before Yazoo had hit him. His hair finally settled around him, the strands of silver flickering like steel as he gazed evenly at the brothers. Then his gaze shifted, abruptly, to look over Yazoo's shoulder, into his blind spot, and Yazoo couldn't help risking a quick glance back.

To his surprise, he wasn't killed the moment his eye left the murderous, chuckling apparition before him. Instead, his gaze landed on the wretched figure, clothed in the white cloth, his face eerily familiar, but screwed up in entirely the wrong expression. When Yazoo's gaze caught him, a beat after Sephiroth, the man had just taken a step forward only to freeze. Yazoo had only a moment to see what must have been a determined expression melt off the other's face, replaced by a twisted, fearful expression that looked strikingly weak and foreign on his mangled face.

"You don't dare," laughed the Sephiroth who Yazoo had looked away from.

At the sound of his words, Yazoo whipped around to look at him. He was relieved to find that for the moment he was being utterly ignored by the man.

Sephiroth was still smiling, but it was a sharp smile, less condescending and more derisive. His eyes were narrowed in vindictive amusement as he gazed past Yazoo to the figure in white, and a strange urge ran through Yazoo to move in front of that gaze. He didn't let himself. Anything that held Sephiroth's attention off himself and his brother was a welcome respite. He used the distraction to sink to one knee, hands landing lightly on his little brother's shoulders, feeling them trembling under his grasp as Loz gasped in shuddering, desperate breaths.

Yazoo didn't give himself time to think about the crawling feeling in his hands, or the taint that had only been increased in the mansion. Loz was in danger from far more than an invisible stain. Yazoo carefully ran one hand over the back of Loz's neck, and flinched just a little when his brother whimpered. Despite his fear for his little brother, he forced himself to return his focus to Sephiroth as the pale man's thin lips curved sinfully upwards in a wider, self-confident smile.

"I know you," he laughed openly, not bothering to hiss the words, still addressing the other man in the clearing, "and you know I would happily rip you apart again. You are mine."

Yazoo flickered his gaze briefly over to the figure in white, and didn't permit himself to stare, even though he wanted to. Despite sharing the same face as his attacker, the other man was backing down, his shoulders hunched just a little. Though he didn't lower his eye to the ground, the rage left his gaze to be replaced by a grim defeat. Yazoo swallowed hard, flicking his gaze back to the black-leather clad monster and shook his brother.

"Get up, Loz," he whispered, voice shaking, a very bad feeling settling in his chest.

Loz gave another little whimper, coughing and shaking under his hands, buckling a little instead of rising.

"And I know-" the man continued, those eyes narrowing just a little more.

"Loz," Yazoo urged desperately, giving his brother another sharp shake, rewarded only by a shallow gasp of pain.

"-that you'll just watch while I tear them to shreds." Sephiroth continued smoothly, as though he had never been interrupted.

Yazoo barely had time to comprehend the words. The moment they reached his brain, hot blood was hitting his face, and Loz's scream tore through the air.

"Oh shit," Zack whispered to himself, his striking gaze fixed on the impending massacre.

"Zack," Aerith murmured at his side, putting a hand on his arm, "there's nothing we can do."

"He's going to destroy them," Zack whispered softly in argument.

"We gave them a chance," the flower-girl whispered, but her voice was sad and full of regret.

"There has to be something we can do," Zack argued, his voice sharp with an anger that wasn't directed at Aerith but hurt her anyway.

"We already did all we can," she chided, gently, knowing that every heroic instinct in Zack was screaming in pain as he watched this, "the planet won't let us do anything more."

Zack clenched his fists and his jaw, staring down at the elder boy, shaking his crumpled brother. Before whenever Zack had seen the elder remnant he had looked at least competent, but now his calm eyes were wide with terror, his one visible pupil little more than a dark slit lost in acid green.

If he was bad, poor Loz was worse. Sephiroth hadn't just taunted the brothers with his grip on the child's throat. Zack felt sick to his stomach, watching the brave little thing cough blood at his brother's desperate shake. He'd seen Sephiroth tighten his hold on the kid's throat until something was crushed, and it broke his heart. It wouldn't kill the boy-this was the lifestream after all-but it had to hurt so bad.

Zack had only known the kid for a little while, and only spent time with him the once, but he already loved him. He knew, logically, that he had hurt Cloud, but it was impossible for him to blame the child for that. He was just a lost little kid.

"Aerith?" called a voice behind them, childish and soft, but demanding of attention.

Zack turned at once, along with Aerith, looking away from the shallow pool of rainwater that they were watching the boys through. He forced himself not to protest as his sweetheart left his side instantly, her white dress pure against the backdrop of flowers. Behind him, he knew, the image would have faded away without her attention, but he still snuck a worried glance back at the now clear pool, and felt the sickness twist in his stomach, feeling that they should, at least, watch what Sephiroth did to them. They owed them that much.

"Kadaj," Aerith called sweetly with honest happiness hiding the stress in her voice as she walked over to him briskly.

As ever, the boy gravitated to her, like a small, pale moon drawn to her radiance. She wrapped him, instantly, in a hug, and let him rest his head on her shoulder, his silver hair flickering. Zack bit back jealousy as she stroked her slim, delicate hand over his head.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were training," she crooned softly, the only one on Gaia, Zack was sure, who could get away with talking to the little tyrant like that.

"I felt like something was wrong," he murmured wearily against her chest.

Zack exchanged a glance with Aerith over the kid's head, reading the worry in her gaze. Kadaj had been less and less energetic lately, and both of them were worried that the task Gaia had given him was getting the best of the fiery teen. He wasn't the only one in the lifestream fighting against Jenova, but he was the only one close enough to do any damage to her actual essence. Unfortunately, that meant she could hurt him back, and she'd had a lot longer to get used to using her powers in the lifestream. Neither of them had dared to speak of it, but Zack knew quite well that Aerith was scared for the boy, and despite himself, he was too. Obnoxious though the kid could be, he was still just a kid.

"We're okay, Kadaj," Aerith reassured, running her fingers through his silken fall of hair, content to let herself be as motherly and affectionate as possible to the boy, though really, she hadn't been that much older than he looked when she died.

Zack forced a smile when the kid lifted his intense eyes to him, letting Kadaj study his face before turning back to Aerith. He wondered if Kadaj could see through the smile to the deep, sickening worry beneath it. While they bonded, Kadaj's brothers were alone with Sephiroth. And the shadow-man. Zack frowned at the reminder of that little mystery.

It was weird, because the lifestream had never failed Aerith while spying on the two boys-it was part of the agreement with Gaia that whatever happened, they could watch. But despite the agreement, when Loz found a tank in the Shinra Mansion, the pool they watched from had showed them only a shadowed blur within. When the kid broke the tank and released whatever it was, the image had not cleared in the slightest. They had, eventually, figured out that it was a person of some sort. It moved around, and walked, but though both boys talked to it, it said not a word.

The brothers had seemed plenty disturbed as well, at first at least. Zack had briefly wondered if it really was just a person-shaped shadow that they were with. He had finally decided that couldn't be it, and the lifestream was hiding something from them when Loz had started calling it by name. The lifestream had blurred out his voice when he did so, like censorship on a television brought to life. Zack suddenly wished he'd been good at lip reading, but even if he had been, he doubted the planet would let him.

It was worrisome, but at the moment it was the least of the problems the two boys had, and Zack was itching to help. He knew that he'd been foolish to dream of being a hero as a teenager-he now knew that the only way to be a hero was to ruin your own life-but it was still his dream. And truth be told it was still who he wanted to be, and every part of him that was a hero said he should be helping. Unfortunately, working for the planet, he had found, was a lot like working for Shinra. You got amazing powers out of the deal, but you could never use them when you really wanted to-when someone really needed you.

"Something is wrong," Kadaj insisted fiercely. "I can tell."

Aerith lifted her gaze to Zack again, looking faintly helpless. She hated lying to the boy, and made no secret of that to either her boyfriend or the planet. Zack sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair and stepping forward, deciding he could at least help with the problem child before him, even if he couldn't save his brothers.

Then, all of a sudden, a thought struck him, and his sky-blue eyes brightened. If Angeal had been there, Zack knew, he'd have gotten a suspicious look as his puppy's metaphorical tail started wagging for the first time in years.

Yazoo stared in horror at the slim, silver length of Masamune, contrasting sharply with the black leather it penetrated. The blood splattered on his face was hot, and the smell of iron was thick in the air. The pools of the liquid that dripped down from the wound onto the leaves made horrible, wet noises, that filled the empty space left in the wake of a scream.

Yazoo stared up from where he kneeled at his little brother, skewered by the blade and dangling above him, and screaming at his frozen body to move. Sephiroth laughed as the slow struggles of the boy on his blade stopped, the little body falling limp. Yazoo watched in silent, sick horror as Loz's hands slid off the blade that was sunken into his stomach and his head lolled forward limply.

"Pathetic," laughed Sephiroth softly.

With a flick of his blade, Loz was tossed like a rag-doll across the clearing. He landed in a heap on the forest floor with a horrible thud, and didn't move. Yazoo finally managed a breath, and burst forward, his body finally responding to his mental screams for movement. He launched himself towards his little brother's body, too breathless and afraid to even call his name.

He barely managed two steps before a horribly familiar hand tangled itself in his hair and jerked him back hard. He lashed out fiercely and blindly, his knuckles connecting with flesh, but not stopping the drag on his hair that threw him to the ground. The moment he hit the leaves, he turned, scrambling to regain his feet, his mind fixed on the motionless form not twenty feet from him. Leaves coated in blood stuck in his hair as he moved, and he lurched, the impact making him dizzy and unstable.

The kick that followed was like being struck with a metal rod. It slammed into his ribs and sent him reeling back to the ground. Before he could fight his way back to his feet, his scrambling movements were halted by Sephiroth straddling his hips and pinning one shoulder down with his hand. Yazoo dimly registered Masamune pressing against his throat, and then decided he didn't care.

He ducked his chin, turning so the blade rested over muscle instead of his trachea, and kicked before he could think it through. He connected with his thigh rather than his knee, like he wanted, but still struck home, hitting the same crotch he'd been forced to pleasure before. Sephiroth jerked with a hollow gasp, and Masamune slipped against Yazoo's throat, cutting deep through muscle. Blood all but burst from his skin, cascading down Yazoo's flesh in a flood, but not killing him just yet.

Yazoo shoved against the man hard, pushing him away. He was satisfied that he'd hit hard enough when Sephiroth gave under his hands, not falling, but giving Yazoo room to fling himself to his feet. He ran hard, his vision blurring for purely physical reasons as his body struggled to heal. His legs threatened to give out, weakened by fear and pure exhaustion.

He made it to Loz, and feel to his knees at his side, turning his little brother over, calling his name as he did. Then he froze in utter, complete horror.

Loz stared up at him blankly, his wide green eyes empty and dead. His throat had barely had time to purple before he'd died, but Yazoo could clearly see the damage to it was what had killed him. Masamune's strike had just been for fun.

Tears fogged his vision as his hands started shaking on his brother's shoulders, trembling uncontrollably. Loz's blood burned where it was splattered on Yazoo's face, and his lifeless eyes stared up at him in silent accusation. This was his fault. It was all his fault.

"Satisfied?" a deep, angry voice said behind him.

Yazoo didn't bother looking at Sephiroth. He couldn't tear his gaze from Loz. The horrible unfairness of it-that someone so pure would be so easily destroyed. He reached a shaking hand up to wipe away the splatter of his own blood that struck his dead brother's forehead. It wasn't fair. It had never been fair. Not for either of them.

Sorrow suddenly vanished from Yazoo, and he carefully set his brother back down, lifting a trembling hand to carefully close his eyelids. He lifted his gaze to the trees beyond them, and waited.

"Now you see what comes from opposing me," Sephiroth snarled, his footsteps approaching Yazoo in a deadly stalk.

Yazoo waited, wordless, the sick feeling in his chest and stomach fading as it was covered by an all-consuming rage. Sephiroth had stolen them both from him-both his brothers. He'd taken them away without Yazoo ever standing a chance. And at that moment, Yazoo didn't find it sad. He found it enraging.

He waited until he heard Sephiroth pause, knowing that hand would be reaching out to grab his hair-that Sephiroth would want to torment him and violate him once more before destroying him as well. Then he struck.

Yazoo hadn't been the strongest of his brothers, or the wickedest, but then, he had never been angry at Cloud or the Turks. He was angry now. He couldn't hear anything but the buzzing in his ears and the memory of Loz's scream, and those were enough to launch him up on legs that had forgotten they were exhausted.

Sephiroth was too taken aback to raise Masamune in time to skewer Yazoo on it like he had his brother. Yazoo saw the surprise on his face and bared his teeth in a fierce roar. He wanted that face twisted in pain.

His hands closed around that pale column of a throat, and he squeezed with all his might, fighting to wring the life out of him, locking his legs around his waist. Sephiroth stumbled backwards under the assault, but his throat didn't give. Yazoo screamed in rage at the stubborn windpipe.

Sephiroth recovered quickly, his free hand grabbing Yazoo's wrists and flinging him away by them, nearly pulling himself off balance when the legs locked around his middle clung a little longer than he thought they'd manage to. For his part, Yazoo had known what to expect, and twisted in the air. He landed heavily, but on his feet, ignoring the stinging spikes of pain that went up his feet all the way to his knees and charged again.

Masamune struck this time before he had a chance to touch his target. Yazoo just blinked as he felt the sword bite into his shoulder and carve deep into the flesh there, tearing him open with seemingly little effort, and continuing its neat swing all the way across his torso. Yazoo watched it lay him open as though it were in slow motion, with only a vague sense of pain.

The spurt of arterial blood that escaped his shoulder was in no way a surprise for Yazoo, but he felt a flash of disappointment. He'd hoped he could at least draw blood on the man who had killed both his brothers.

His legs gave out, and he went down, his blood soaking the ground beneath him in moments, leaping free of him with every one of his frantic heartbeats. It was hot against his face, and his ragged breaths stirred the pool of it by his lips like thick, miniature waves. The pain hit him in a rush, heavily delayed, but Yazoo didn't let it deter him.

He shoved his hands underneath himself, pushing upwards, which only made the bleeding worse. His hands slipped in the blood and sent him slumping back to the ground, but he'd managed to turn his head so his seeing eye was looking at the world rather than his own blood. He lifted his gaze to Sephiroth, with a defiant, angry look on his face.

The man was looking down at him with fury in his green gaze, his silver hair in something like disarray. Even as his vision blurred and doubled, Yazoo could see the blood on his blade. Though he wasn't sure if it was a shadow or not, he thought he saw a bruise on his neck, and allowed himself a trembling, feral smile of satisfaction, even as he felt blood leak from between his lips and felt the leaves and ground underneath him digging into the gaping cut on his chest, poking the raw flesh within.

Sephiroth snarled at the look and stormed over. Yazoo didn't let himself flinch when a hand tangled in his hair and jerked his head up, twisting his neck back and making the pain of the cuts in his neck and shoulder spike. He just kept that feral smile on his face. Now that Sephiroth was trying to intimidate him with that horrible glare, Yazoo could see it was a bruise after all. He'd made an impact, at least.

"You," Sephiroth growled at him, the superior smile wiped off his face to be replaced by a snarl of rage, "are going to pay."

Yazoo wanted to laugh at him. He was dying. What did Sephiroth think he could do? Unfortunately, when the laugh reached his body, it just came out as a retch, sending yet more of his blood sliding down his chin to splatter on the ground. Sephiroth didn't even twitch when it splashed onto his leathers. His furious green gaze filled Yazoo's failing vision.

For a moment, Yazoo blacked out, darkness taking him mercifully as death approached. But Sephiroth wasn't done yet, and the blackness was replaced with a blinding flash of light as he hauled on Yazoo's hair, dragging him across the ground, the open wound on his chest grinding into the ground underneath it.

The scream that ripped out of his throat was one of pure agony, and Yazoo couldn't fight it back. Sephiroth didn't care in the slightest, simply dragging him further on as spots danced before Yazoo's vision and he found himself hoping he'd bleed out more quickly, though he didn't see how it was possible, with the rate at which his artery was spewing his blood.

Sephiroth threw him down, and Yazoo lost his breath for a moment before the stuttering, ragged rhythm forced itself to pick up. He forced himself to blink his eyes open, and instantly wished he hadn't. He was face to face with Loz's body, and the loss hit him like a fresh would, looking at his young face, the lines of terror and pain not erased by the simple closing of his eyes.

"You'll die watching me defile his body," Sephiroth hissed.

Masamune entered Yazoo's range of vision, and sick dread surged through him as it hovered over his little brother's chest. He didn't want to see this-didn't want to watch what little remained of his Loz torn to pieces before his eyes. It was too much. And yet, the sword didn't move. Instead, it wavered. The tip of it almost touching his little brother's leather coat, but not quite.

Yazoo fought back a gag, and choked out another cough that came out wet and bloody. He forced himself to look up at Sephiroth, even as the ground seemed to dip and wobble under him as his body finally gave in.

He had just enough time to see what looked like fear and rage mingle on Sephiroth's face before the blade suddenly vanished, and the man staggered backwards and away, both hands raising to his head.

Yazoo forced himself to move. He threw his uninjured arm over his little brother's body and dragged him close before collapsing again, beside him. He forced his hand to keep holding onto the strap of leather it had gripped, focusing whatever power he had left into maintaining that hold. The world flickered around him again, as he heard Sephiroth, dimly, screaming.

"No! Little wretch! I made you!" the man was howling, both hands gripping his own hair tightly.

Yazoo closed his eyes to the sight of him, uncaring of what was making him scream, and pressed a trembling kiss to Loz's brow. His brother smelled like blood and sweat, and any number of unpleasant things, but Yazoo didn't care in the least. He held him as close as he could, knowing he wouldn't be able to much longer.

"I'm sorry, Loz," He whispered, dropping his head back to the ground next to his brother's and nuzzling very briefly against him.

Even now he hated himself for the touch, but he was still strangely comforted by the closeness, even as it hurt him. His brother, who should have turned into the touch, or wriggled against it, was unnaturally still and silent. Yazoo, dimly, longed for his brother to go on yet another one of his useless, unending tirades. He could almost hear his voice, in his mind, complaining about the blood Yazoo was getting on his leather.

But the real Loz lay pale as death at Yazoo's side, crushed by the very man he'd been created from. Yazoo's hand, of no will of his, loosed the hold on his leather strap, and Yazoo knew it was over. He slanted his eyes open, one last time, gazing at his brother's silver hair, stained red by his blood.

He didn't close them again.

Kadaj slumped against Aerith, and Zack instantly gravitated to them. Aerith turned the boy, carefully, until they could see his face. There were tears on his cheeks, and he was flushed faintly, but he was still in one piece. Zack let out a long breath and kneeled by him, stroking his hair.

"You get him, kid?" he asked softly.

"Y-yeah," Kadaj answered softly, his voice weak and tired. "He was fighting someone. Distracted."

"Good job, Kadaj," Zack praised, reaching out to run a hand over the kid's hair, since Aerith was busy holding him close.

The boy didn't respond, and Zack knew he wouldn't wake up for quite some time. He never did after facing Jenova or Sephiroth, and he hated himself a little for forcing the kid into it without telling him why.

"You know he's not supposed to help them," Aerith whispered from where she held Kadaj close, as though she really were his mother.

Zack looked up at her with a rueful smile, knowing she'd be mad for him using Kadaj like that, even if it was to save his brothers. Her green eyes were, indeed, angry, but they looked more worried than anything. Kadaj's continued existence depended heavily on how well the planet thought he was behaving.

"Aer," Zack whispered, "give me some credit. I wouldn't do that to him."

"Then what do you call what you just did?" Aerith hissed angrily, her brows drawn down in disapproval.

Zack reached out to her, smoothing her hair back, and part of him distantly wished it could be just them again. Together, watching over their friends, and taking comfort in one another's arms. She pulled away from the touch with a scowl, her hold on the boy who needed them both so badly tightening just a little. Zack sighed, lowering his head a bit, and let his hand rest on Kadaj's chest instead.

"He wasn't helping them," Zack insisted softly. "He didn't even know they were there."

He lifted his gaze to Aerith's green eyes and gave her a small smile, the mischief in his expression dimmed by sorrow that Kadaj had been hurt by it. Under his hand, the kid's chest rose and fell evenly, easing his guilt just a little.

"He was just doing his job and fighting back Sephiroth," Zack finished softly. "After all, that's what the planet wants him to do, right? Fight him and Jenova when they get too violent?"

The grove descended into silence for a little while, and Zack met Aerith's rather stunned gaze evenly, still holding the faint smile on his lips, hoping silently that he had been right.

"Zack," she said softly, and he tensed, for just a moment, "You are an idiot."

At the affectionate tone of her voice, Zack couldn't help but grin widely at her over their charge's sleeping form. It wasn't much, but it was something. And maybe, just maybe, crazy though he was, he'd bought the kids a little time.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

For a long time, there was absolutely nothing. It wasn't dark, or bright, or cold, or hot-it was just nothing. Slowly, awareness returned to him-and he was a 'him'- he was starting to remember things like that now. A name returned to him slowly, hovering just at the edge of his awareness, tantalizingly. He knew he had a name. He just had to figure out what it was, then maybe he could remember why he hurt.

He considered a moment longer, then decided that was a very strange thought indeed. He wasn't entirely sure what 'hurt' was, in fact, but he was pretty certain it was accurate. There was definitely a sort of feeling around him, which wasn't pleasant. He supposed that must be the hurt he was thinking of. He thought there was something particular missing from it. Something to do with flesh and blood and the damage of it.

He tried to raise a hand to wipe at one of his bleary eyes, only to find he had neither hands nor eyes. It wasn't that they were missing, he just didn't have them. It was that absence of a physical presence that really scared him. The emptiness around him he could stand, and the silence, but not having a body was a completely new and unwelcome terror.

"Such a curious little creature," said a woman's voice nearby, low, and strong without losing it's feminine airs.

He turned towards the woman's voice-or tried to. Turning turned out to be another one of those physical things that he couldn't do anymore. He tried to ask who was there, and ran into problems again. He didn't have a mouth to ask with. Fear welled up in him, all-consuming and suffocating, and left him feeling more trapped than he ever had before. It was almost like claustrophobia.

"Hm," the woman's voice muttered, "I suppose I could give you your form. No particular reason not to, if it will make you feel better."

Almost at once, he felt filled in, tightly held and comforted, more like being hugged than suffocated. He gasped in deeply, suddenly assaulted with the need to breathe, and opened his blurry eyes. The face looking down at him was gentle, with bright blue eyes, and pale blonde hair. She positively shone, blinding him to any further features. On her forehead rested a diadem, shimmering gold, and encrusted with jewels. A single name rose to his fuzzy mind, the only one he had associated with women and blonde hair. The very thought of it almost suffocated him with hope.

"Mama Strife?" he asked softly and hopefully, his voice clear, despite his complete inability to speak only moments before.

"No," the woman replied with a sharp laugh.

Suddenly green filled his world, catapulting him away from the woman. He gasped, struggling against the green streamers until he managed to get his feet under him, holding strong against the currant. He stared up at the woman as she stared down, her eyes distant and cold.

His first good look at her told him exactly what he needed to know-she was a warrior, like he had been once. In her left hand she held an enormous circular shield, emblazoned with gold, exploding outwards from the center. In her right was a spear bigger than she was. She herself towered over him, almost like a summon. She was even bigger than he himself had been, once, though now he was small. He wished he could remember his name. The armor around her seemed to float just off her skin, weightless despite its size. A cape billowed out behind her, from the wide pauldrons framing her shoulders. Every piece of her armor glistened, despite the lack of sunlight. She shone in his eyes, blinding him and making him raise a hand to shield against the light, shadowing his face. He blinked at her, squinting.

Her eyes were cold as she studied him. Her gaze reminded him eerily of Angeal's dismissive look, as though she had the capability to be kind, and gentle, but had no interest in doing so. He swallowed hard under the look, but refused to be swept away by the green streamers surrounding him.

"I didn't intend this for you," she said calmly after a moment. "You were not meant to have enough soul to feel such pain."

"I'm fine," he replied sharply, though it was a lie.

In fact, the longer he stood there, the more he hurt. His throat was killing him, burning fiercely, matching the sharp pain in his side. Though he ghosted a hand over both places, neither were damaged. There was nothing he could do to ease the hurt. He wished he'd found injuries instead. Injuries could be looked after, and tended to, so long as there was someone to tend them.

"My brothers," he gasped suddenly, his eyes going wide with fear. "Where are my brothers?"

"Closer than you know," the woman replied, tilting her head slowly, sending her neat, straight hair swinging to one side, uncovering more of the shining crown that stretched across her forehead.

He watched in amazement as a breeze he couldn't feel, pushing the opposite way he was being pulled blew through her hair and waved the cape she wore behind her. She was breathtakingly beautiful, he thought absently to himself, strangely appeased by the words about his brothers. He swallowed, feeling that perhaps he ought not to ask his dumb questions of someone so obviously powerful. His curiosity, however, over powered his good sense.

"What didn't you mean to happen to me?" he asked suddenly. "I don't remember."

"That is, perhaps, a mercy," the woman responded, tilting her head downwards a little, not in anything like shame or remorse, but thoughtfully. "Tell me, boy, why did you call out to Strife?"

"She's nice," he answered without thought, unable to even think of not responding truthfully. "She helped me. And my brother. You said he's safe?"

"He is nearby," the woman responded again, flatly.

For a moment, there was silence. The green river around him was rising. He shifted his footing, trying to find a firmer place to stand, swallowing hard in worry. As the stream reached his waist, he looked up to the woman, to see if she would help him. She remained where she stood, unnaturally still, watching him with that same, detached interest.

"I wonder," she said as his feet slipped just a little again, pulling him away. "Why did she save the other one instead of you. You are obviously more whole-more complete."

"The other one?" he asked, his voice growing higher with a faint fear as the stream continued to pull at him.

"I suppose," the woman said, ignoring him entirely, "that it was his very madness that drove her to step in on his behalf. He had no choice in being mad, and so she saved him from that. You, however, have been left behind, with the broken one. Does it not make you angry?"

He wasn't sure what she was talking about, but even as she asked, he knew the answer. He took a shuddering breath as the stream pushed him back another inch or two, glancing around with wide, worried eyes and twisted brows.

"No," he said, his voice starting to shake with fear. "No, I'm not angry. I can make it. I don't need to be saved."

Even as he spoke the words, he made himself look up at her, reminded, suddenly, that he was strong. He didn't have to be afraid of the green river, or of the woman watching him through cool eyes. He was-well, he wasn't sure who he was, but he wasn't a coward. She narrowed her gaze at him, thinking it over, then gave a little shrug.

"Very well," she responded coolly. "Then I shall not save you."

"Good," he replied sharply, realization striking him. "Good. I don' wanna be saved alone. I gotta get back to Yazoo!"

"Listen boy," she said, not sharply, but firmly, in such a voice that he couldn't have ignored it if he wanted to. "You and yours will not be saved, aside from the one who already has. However-"

She paused a long moment, looking him over. Suddenly he was picked up by the stream, not carried away or thrown down under the waters, but lifted over to the woman again. He froze stock still, staring at her in wide-eyed awe as the water held him before her, not crushingly tightly, but feeling cold against his skin. Her eyes were like cold fire, which both burned and froze him as he trembled under the weight of their gaze. He bit his lip, and refused to cower, putting his shoulders back and meeting the gaze with his own, though he felt he would go blind from it. Her expression changed not in the slightest.

"I have decided." she stated finally.

Instantly, the waters swept him away again, and he gave a yell as he was pushed back, this time unable to find a steady place to stand.

"Find your way," the woman said with an air of finality to her voice, which carried over the sounds of the waves, which were like little voices themselves

He struggled against the green waters that threatened to overwhelm him, striking out at the liquid which flowed around his every attempt at fighting it. He was towed further and further away from the shining woman, towards the darkness behind him.

"Prove yourselves." She called imperiously, her words sounding like a decree. "Show your true characters. Succeed-show me your worth, and I will redeem you."

And then he was sucked beneath the green waves. He gasped for air, and inhaled liquid fire. It burned his throat. He tried to scream, but there was no breath in him. The green stabbed against his side, piercing him through with agony, making him writhe and kick. He lashed out against it, fighting back to save his own life.

And was promptly dropped to the ground in a heap, where he gasped in a painful, hollow breath, which awakened him to new depths of discomfort. He felt his heart start beating. The first pump was agonizing, slamming blood that was like ice through his arteries and veins. Then came the second, slightly less painful, and so on until a rhythm picked up and the ice-like needles he'd felt stabbing into his skin faded away. He fought his eyes open, drawing in one panicked breath after another, curling in on himself and coughing harshly. He tasted blood, and coughed it up, then coughed up some other liquid as well, unsure what it was.

A soft sound behind him drew his attention, and he whirled, forcing himself to sit up and scramble back, suddenly overwhelmed with a shadow of fear. He looked no further than the shock of long silver hair, falling in a distinctive arch of bangs before he he let out a terrified cry. He wasn't entirely himself, but he remembered enough to know Sephiroth's hair, and know that it meant that pain was coming. He turned to try and scramble away, only to fall, his limbs giving out under him from weakness. He curled in on himself, whimpering and crying, filled with a bone-deep terror.

"Yazoo!" he called out through the choking breaths and the tears, remembering his elder brother had been here with him.

Silence answered him-utter and complete silence. That was what made him crack his eyes open and peek. Though he couldn't remember his own name, he remembered that the lifestream's Sephiroth-the one who had crushed his throat under a strong hand as though it were no more than a twig to him-had a penchant for boasting. The first thing he registered when he glanced up was that this Sephiroth wore not black leather, but dirty, stained white, draped loosely around him, almost accentuating his nakedness more than it covered it.

As he stared, wide eyed, at that incongruity, the tall man slowly went to one knee and bent over. Very slowly, and gently, Sephiroth started lowering a second body off his shoulder and onto the ground. The slow, careful nature of the movement reminded him all of a sudden that this was a different Sephiroth-the hurt Sephiroth, whom he'd saved. Then the body's head tilted back loosely on his neck, and all thoughts of Sephiroth were driven from his mind as he let out a hollow, horrified gasp.

Yazoo's head lolled limply, to the side as Sephiroth rested it gently on the soft earth. The elder boy's eyes were closed, and his lips were blue, and his face was covered in blood. He amended that thought, almost numbly, as Sephiroth set his brother fully on the ground. All of him was covered in blood, from his pretty hair, to his sleeping face, to his leather clothes.

In a blur of motion, he threw himself off the ground and over towards his brother, completely ignoring the threat that Sephiroth represented. He grabbed both his brother's shoulders to shake him, then gave a little cry, pulling back as one of his hands slipped into a messy wound on his brother's shoulder and chest. His fingers came away coated in his brother's blood. He looked down at Yazoo in utter horror, tears spilling down his cheeks once more, the pain in his side and throat forgotten in complete, mind-shattering loss.

"Yazoo!" he howled, catching his brother's face in his hands rather than touching his shoulders again.

His hand made a new, bloody mark on the already blood-splattered cheek of his elder brother, but nothing else changed. Yazoo lay still and silent. His skin was bone cold, and not a single thread of breath passed his blue, perfect lips.

With a choked cry, as his heart broke, he pulled his hands away from his brother to cover his own mouth, kneeling at the side of his fallen, despised Yazoo. The smell of the liquid on his hand only made the horror of the moment more real.

"No," he whispered, "no, you can't be dead..."

Again, there was no response from the body. Behind him, he heard someone shift, and knew it was Sephiroth. He didn't care. A careful, pale hand lighted on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. It was slapped away at once, a wail escaping him as his mouth was uncovered for a moment.

"Wake up," he pleaded, though he knew Yazoo had never once listened to his pleas. "Wake up. If you don't wake up I'll scream, and you'll get a headache and yell at m-me and-"

He broke off, unable to continue, and fell over his brother's chest, collapsing into helpless sobs. No heartbeat broke through the sound of his misery, and no groaning complaint greeted his tears. The lack of Yazoo's hands batting him away was like a physical hole in his stomach. True to his threat, he parted his lips and screamed, but it wasn't a scream of fear, or anger, or anything of the like-it was a howl of pure loss.

Quickly, his mouth was covered by a long-fingered hand, and for a moment, hope swelled through him in a suffocating rush. He snapped his eyes open, only to find Sephiroth looking down at him out of a single green eye. There was only darkness where the other should have been.

At the realization of who was covering his mouth, his face contorted in pure rage, and he bit down as hard as he could on the hand covering his mouth, drawing blood. The man quickly withdrew his hand, some of the flesh ripping when it was not released from the sharp teeth buried in it. He dragged Yazoo's body a little closer, clinging to him, and glaring daggers at Sephiroth, wishing he could kill him with a look alone.

"This is your fault," he hissed, every ounce of misery he possessed warping into fury. "You let him do this. You let him!"

The man backed a step away, and stared at the brothers for a long moment before lowering his head a little. But rather than letting him get back to mourning, Sephiroth took a single step closer and knelt. The man's slim finger traced words in the soft dirt near where he was kneeling, the movement mesmerizing. He dragged his bloody fingers through his big brother's hair as he watched the maimed man write.

"He will wake up." The words said simply, the writing slightly shaky. "You were dead too. He will live."

Once he'd read the words, he looked up at Sephiroth out of hard eyes as the man drew his hand away from the dirt, lifting his mismatched gaze to him. There was a moment of tense silence.

"I was dead?" he asked softly, though he already knew the answer.

Even before Sephiroth nodded, the memory of having his throat crushed under a leather-clad hand surfaced. He could remember the feeling of suffocating in empty air, unable to draw enough breath to tell Yazoo to run as his elder brother tried to protect him. He started to tremble, tears rising in his eyes once again, sorrow overwhelming rage.

"He'll wake up?" he asked, frightened of the answer, and needing the reassurance badly.

The man nodded again, silent and solemn, with an almost sorrowful look in his eyes. The cold body he held close to himself said otherwise, as did the head that had lolled over to rest against his shoulder, in more closeness and affection than Yazoo had ever allowed. And yet, despite all the impossibility of it, the boy couldn't stand to think of the alternative. After all, without his brother, he didn't even know who he was. He pressed his lips tightly together, brows twisting, then turned his head down to nuzzle against his brother's cheek, carefully and sadly.

"If you're wrong," he whispered, his voice dry and sad, "I'll kill you."

Silence descended between them as he continued to cradle his brother's body, no longer even caring what his own name was, and every ounce of his being trembling in tension as he waited for his dead brother to return. He was dimly aware that Sephiroth rose, his white covering fluttering slightly as he moved, making more noise than his footsteps did on the soft earth.

It seemed to him that it only took a moment before the man had built a roaring fire nearby. He didn't much care, but it lent some warmth to his dead brother's body, so he edged a little closer. When nothing happened for a moment longer, he slowly forced himself to lower Yazoo to the ground, carefully stroking his hair under his head so it wouldn't be splayed about him as though he'd fallen. He took the utmost care in positioning Yazoo as though he were merely sleeping.

Despite himself, he looked up to Sephiroth, his brows twisted. It was starting to get dark, and exhaustion was slowly consuming him, fueled by misery and loss. With every moment that ticked by, he lost faith in his brother's awakening. The sad, guilty look Sephiroth cast him from where he sat across the fire should have been infuriating, and instead only made the whole thing sadder. Sephiroth sat with his legs crossed beneath him and his right hand carefully feeding sticks to the small fire as his dominant left arm lay uselessly in his lap. He looked as though he were keeping vigil over the two boys he'd met only a day ago.

"I-" he started softly, stroking a hand through Yazoo's hair as he watched Sephiroth, "I'm sorry. I know it wasn't your fault, really. I just-"

The man lifted his good hand to stall his words, and shook his head a little, deflecting the apology before turning back to the fire. They both fell into silence once more.

All of a sudden, the silence was broken by a heavy, rasping gasp for air, and a single spurt of bright, arterial blood before the wound that crossed Yazoo's body closed completely. The blood splattered on the younger brother's face, but he spared only a moment to flinch at the feel of it, before he grasped his gasping older brother's shoulders, ignoring the splatter of red liquid across his face, worryingly close to his eyes. Yazoo clawed at the ground, arching his back in pain and panic, and gave an aborted cry at the touch of his little brother's hands.

"Yazoo," he called to his wounded protector, almost desperate to soothe his obvious fear.

Mismatched green eyes flew open, and he was suddenly pinned by his brother's stare. Yazoo drew in breath after breath, each steadier than the last. His skin was warming quickly under the hands grasping his shoulders. They gazed at each other for a long moment. His eyes overflowed with tears once more as he stared down in wonder at the color slowly returning to his elder brother's face, and the faint, delicate flush that was replacing the blue of his lips.

"Loz," the elder boy choked, blood trickling down from the corner of his mouth "don't cry."

The faint, sly smile he gave was more than enough to send Loz into a positive frenzy. The boy collapsed on his brother's chest, sobbing in relief once again, and this time feeling life underneath him. And when Yazoo's arms wrapped around him from behind, Loz finally felt like himself once again. He didn't even care that Sephiroth was sitting across the fire, watching their reunion. Yazoo was alive. They were both alive, breathing, and messy, covered in dirt and blood. Loz had never been so happy.


	23. Chapter 23

Air flowed in and out of Yazoo's lungs in deep, aching breaths. His heart was pounding in a painstaking staccato rhythm. Almost without his own intent, his arms tightened around Loz. The boy was collapsed, boneless, over him, sobbing into his blood-soaked chest. Distantly, the elder clone worried the boy would stick to him, connected by drying blood. Yazoo's hearing was still filled with the rush of his own heart beating, but through it he could hear the broken cries of his little brother.

Selfishly, Yazoo held on tightly to the bundle of miserable warmth resting over him, fighting back the empty void of death as fiercely as he could. Though he wasn't sure why, he had a feeling that they weren't about to be killed again by a gloating madman, and in his exhaustion, he allowed himself to feel safe for a moment. His quivering muscles slowly relaxed, even as the healing gash carved across his torso burned in pain. It was just like it had been the last time he died, only this time it did not have the element of surprise weakening him. He was able to push away the pain in favor of the relief of having breath in his lungs once more.

His mind felt blurred and congested. He couldn't quite get his head around what was missing. He felt relieved, because Loz was shuddering harshly with every sob against him, and that was not something dead bodies did. He felt safe, because this reunion wouldn't have been allowed were they still in enemy hands. But despite both those comforts, he could tell something was missing from him. Something important hadn't come back yet.

When it returned, it struck very hard indeed. Loz let out a pathetic wail against his chest, and the part of Yazoo that had been asleep woke up suddenly, with a vengeance. Yazoo instantly released his hold on his little brother to grab his shoulders, pushing him away with all the strength he could muster. He only managed to create a couple inches of separation between them.

"I mean it, Loz, stop crying," he snapped with every ounce of annoyance he could put in his voice. "Get off!"

"B-but," Loz sobbed, refusing to budge, "you were-A-and you tried to-"

"Loz," Yazoo growled dangerously, "Off. Now. I'm filthy enough without you getting snot all over me."

"Y-you," Loz stammered for a moment before abruptly pulling back out of his hold, glaring down at him, "You're so mean!"

Yazoo gasped in pain as Loz punched him sharply in retribution, striking dead center on his chest, where he'd been sliced open. He rolled onto his side with a groan, curling up as much as he could and cradling the tender flesh. Loz sat back on his heels, tilting his head back to sob, loudly and messily, entirely unrepentant for the strike. Despite the intense pain in Yazoo's chest, where he'd just been hit, something in him relaxed just a touch. This was much more like normal between them.

His contented thoughts were interrupted by a wheezing cough as his body reminded him all was far from well. Yazoo forced himself up onto one elbow, spitting blood and grimacing at the iron taste of it. He would have guessed he'd be used to the flavor by now, but it still made his stomach roil in displeasure. Through the nasty, clogged sound of his own ragged breathing, he heard Loz silence his sobbing abruptly, proving he could have done so all along. He decided he'd rather ignore the annoyance for the moment then start up another argument. Loz's punch had been surprisingly powerful.

As he pulled himself together and lifted his gaze to scold Loz, he froze. Across the fire, a shadowed figure was watching them. Silver hair gleamed orange in the firelight, surrounding pale skin, the familiar face made stark and strange by the single light source. Yazoo pushed himself up onto his elbow. His ruined leathers hung open over his chest where they'd been sliced apart by Masamune.

"You're still here," he muttered after a moment, his eyes narrowing at the man.

Silence greeted him, but he'd expected nothing more. The ruined Sephiroth sat across from them, a study of gold in the firelight. The empty socket where his eye should have been was not shadowed by the fire, like Yazoo would have guessed. The gilded light illuminated the upper curve of the sunken eyelid, casting the lower half of the concave into darkness, accentuating the marred surface, rather than masking it.

Yazoo only realized he was staring when Sephiroth turned his head away a little, hiding the healed-over injury. The man's visible eye was studying him with open suspicion, obviously unnerved by the intensity with which he was being studied. Yazoo didn't particularly care. Something about the wound was absolutely mesmerizing to him. He felt drawn to it. Completely unbidden, the urge to touch the injury suddenly rose to him. He'd never wanted to touch anything so badly. His gaze remained fixed on the curve of Sephiroth's nose which now hid the mark from view.

"Yaz?" asked Loz in a small, clear voice. "What are you looking at?"

Yazoo shook himself out of his fixated stupor to look over at his little brother. Loz was covered in blood, but most of it was drying out quickly, already in the sticky, tacky stage of congealing. The boy was absently scratching at the blood-encrusted hole in the torso of his leathers. Yazoo forced himself not to flinch, remembering watching Masamune part that flesh and lift Loz, impaled on the blade like an insect on a pin. As he looked his brother over, his gaze caught on the livid bruising on Loz's throat. It was a mottled red and purple that was clearly discolored even in the obscuring darkness of their fire's meager light.

Yazoo himself was starting to ache from the strain his position was putting on his chest and shoulder, where he'd so recently been cut apart. He sat up slowly, glancing between Sephiroth and Loz as he rose. One of his hands drifted upwards to rest over his own collar bone. He could feel, through the sticky, congealing blood, a thick almost rope-like scar running over his flesh. He was surprised by his lack of worry about it. He'd earned this scar. He picked a dried leaf husk out of the bloody mess before resting his hand over the mark once again.

Loz was shifting as his elder brother sat up at last. His small hands lifted, moving forward just a little, as though to brace him. Despite his obvious urge to help, Loz hovered halfway between assisting and ignoring his elder as Yazoo steadied himself in an upright position. Once his brother was firmly in place, the boy dropped his hands and looked away as though he'd been paying no attention what-so-ever. Yazoo studied the way his lower lip protruded in a pout. He allowed himself a soft breath of relief at Loz's hesitation to touch him. The barrier between them he'd tried so hard to instill in Loz had not crumbled yet. He was deeply glad for the protection.

The fire's warmth heated his cooled skin on one side, speeding the drying of the blood that covered him. He ran a hand over his new scar, between the flayed scraps of his leathers, grimacing more at how much of his skin was exposed than anything else. The mark flowed down his chest, tracing over hard muscle and improperly healed ribs.

A flash of memory arose in him as he touched his own skin, his hand feeling slick and unnatural as it trailed through the blood that coated him. In his mind, his own hand became someone else's. It trailed lower, unwanted and harsh. He could see the cruel smile on Sephiroth's lips-feel the weight of him, as he straddled his hips and settled there. The stench of rotted flesh and a hint of alcoholic wine pervaded the air. The manacles holding him to the table froze his skin, raising tender goosebumps on his arms, mirrored by the painful chill of the table underneath him on his bare skin.

A knife gleamed in Sephiroth's hand, illuminated by cold, fluorescent lights. With a wicked flash of amused, acidic eyes, his originator lowered the knife to his chest, resting the frigid blade against his sternum, just to watch him gasp. He didn't care anymore. He couldn't care. He was so spent-so used up-there wasn't enough of him left to care. He could feel the heat of blood on his inner thighs. His lower back ached with a bone-deep soreness that stubbornly refused to relent. He'd never been touched like that before. Never such a sickening, terrifying mix of intimacy and pain.

Only that didn't make sense. Yazoo blinked, slowly, staring out into the darkness of the forest rather than looking at the other silver-haired men around the fire. He took a deep breath of smoke-scented air, trying to think. He'd seen so much recently-been through so much-that he was almost lost in his own mind. However, he was not a stupid man. He was well aware that something about the memory was off. He'd only met that perfect, wicked version of Sephiroth once-in the mansion. He couldn't remember all of the encounter. It was like his memory had been blurred and fuzzed around the edges, ragged as an old film, and missing enormous periods of time. He remembered snippets of it, and brief, vivid images. He remembered the taste of leather boots and salt and his own blood. But he didn't remember being chained down, or cut open.

Even more than the impractical memories, it was the thoughts that alerted him to something strange. They couldn't have been his own. Sephiroth wasn't the first to sexually abuse him. He wasn't even close to the first. He'd had his lips plundered, and his body used even before he died. It had been just once, but it had been enough. Yazoo remembered knowing exactly what was going on. There hadn't been a hint of confusion in him at the action. It had been necessary for him to bear it. Or he'd thought it had been. The men had been well-armed, and he had been alone. He remembered every moment of the rape vividly, from the second they'd pushed him down to strip him to the moment he'd bitten the flesh shoved in his mouth clean off, and killed both of the men. He'd never allowed it again, killing everyone in whose eyes he saw that look before they had a chance. But even so, he hadn't been able to stop it happening in his first moments in the Lifestream.

He remembered them both so clearly-it had been the first thing that marred him personally. The taint that had never left him after that first attack. It still clung to him, hugging his body like a second skin. It made no sense that he would have thought his encounter with Sephiroth anything particularly new and horrible. Unless it hadn't really been his memory.

Slowly he looked back across the fire to the wounded imitation of Sephiroth. Though it was covered now, he vividly remembered the look of the scar on the man's chest-the appearance of something absent there. He could feel the cold steel of the knife pressing against his own skin as he was bound to a table, mirroring the injury. A sickening suspicion coiled within him, settling heavy in his gut.

"You owe us an explanation," Yazoo said softly, his voice shaking despite himself.

Sephiroth turned to look at him, inadvertently showing his missing eye once more. Yazoo gave another shudder, fighting down the urge to circle the fire and run his fingers over the mark. His single acidic green eye gazed emptily at him, shining vividly but blankly in the fire's light. It looked almost as though the flames were reflecting of a clear, still pool.

"He can't talk, Yazoo," Loz reminded him testily, looking faintly unnerved. "He can't explain anything."

"He can write." Yazoo snapped at his little brother without looking away from Sephiroth. "And he will, if he knows what's good for him."

"Yazoo," Loz cried, apparently distraught by the words, "don't be mean to him!"

"Why do I remember?" Yazoo asked the man, intending to yell, but only ending up sounding wounded. "Why can I remember being you?"

Loz fell silent at his side, but Yazoo didn't look away from Sephiroth to see his little brother. The boy was just visible in his peripheral vision, and the intensity of his suddenly confused gaze was palpable. Yazoo wished the kid were in his blind spot, where he could ignore his presence. Loz had become deeply distracting of late, and Yazoo needed all of his focus to keep himself mentally in one piece.

Across the fire, Sephiroth moved, slowly and stiffly. The musty, ugly fabric rustled a little as he shifted onto his knees. Yazoo noticed, vaguely, that his feet were bare, and the bottoms blackened with dirt.

Hesitantly, Sephiroth reached out his right hand to pluck a slender stick from the pile of wood by the fire. The end of it trembled as he lifted it out, betraying the weakness of his hand. Loz made a soft, pitying sound at Yazoo's side, and stood. Yazoo wasn't surprised when he circled around to settle nearer to Sephiroth. He did bristle a little, though. He wouldn't let Loz be stolen from him. Never the less, he didn't interrupt for now. He would get his answers first. Then he would deal with the man.

He watched coldly with his one working eye as Sephiroth reached out, a ways away from the fire, to start writing with the end of the stick, the letters shaky and unfamiliar. Yazoo narrowed his gaze on them refusing to move around the fire to read from Sephiroth's point of view. The writing came with painstaking slowness, and Yazoo forced his exhausted body to settle just a little, halting the shivering if nothing more. It would be a long night.

Kadaj was never fully aware when he fought Jenova. It was a battle in a realm he barely understood. He fought the taint she had left throughout the Lifestream, the very essence of her. It was frustratingly intangible. There was no palpable sign of success after the fight-he wasn't even sure how to tell who won. However, the battles were at least easy to begin.

Since the day he'd been created, he'd felt a piece of his mother coiled inside him. It had been a source of constant whispers and rage. She had called to him, day in and day out. He never escaped her voice, berating his every move, and screaming in the agony of confinement. It was only when her voice was suddenly silenced as he died in Cloud's arms that he'd realized what she had done to him. He remembered next to nothing of his voyage from the Northern Crater to Midgar with his two deeply-flawed brothers. His days and nights were filled with Jenova's rants, and information about Sephiroth, and Cloud, and Meteor was being forced into his mind.

Some nights, sleeping in Aerith's field, he still dreamed of the stars. He could almost feel the planet moving under his feet as he sailed through the cosmos as his mother's chosen. He always forced the dreams away when he awoke. Once, he had clung to the remembered warmth and joy. Shortly after he awoke, Aerith had scoffed at Jenova's name. He'd gone mad with rage in that moment. The next thing he'd known, she was on the ground, his hands around her throat, and Zack's sword was pressed against his neck. He'd never risked holding onto the dreams again.

But no matter how good he'd become, and how hard he worked to control himself, he was still dangerous. He knew that as well as Zack did. The Soldier never took his attention away from him, and never took his blade off. Aerith had berated him for his paranoia at first, but after Kadaj's attempt on her life, she hadn't mentioned it again. Kadaj hated how stable Zack was-how easy it was for him to love Aerith and the Lifestream. It wasn't fair for one person to have that much love, and to be so adored by everyone he met.

Kadaj tried harder. Whenever Aerith asked, he flung himself into the void where his very essence was pitted against Jenova's. Her screams were more familiar than the scent of flowers and the gentle laughter of the meadow, but despite that, Kadaj fought against her every time, feeling the sharp shards of her hatred tear at him. He always woke up after the battle feeling empty and rattled. Aerith would be hovering above him, coated in the scent of flowers and staring down at him out of worried green eyes. In those moments, he always hated her.

He knew it was wrong to hate her. She had saved him-cleansed him in a way he didn't deserve in the slightest. Angeal had made sure he understood that. He tried harder to love her, but every time he was confronted with her sweet smile and loving eyes, he was filled with a sickening rage. He held it back. He fought Jenova when she told him. He tried to be a good boy.

Aerith promised him peace, and he never asked her when it was coming. She promised him his brothers, and he hadn't told her how little he cared. Loz and Yazoo had been convenient, but though family was important they were no more special than any of his other siblings. She could have spent her time searching the for the Stigma victims instead. It would have been the same.

Despite his rage, when she and Zack had pleaded with him to fight his mother yet again, for the third time in a week, he dove back into the abyss where they battled without hesitating. It took harder provocation this time to draw Jenova into battle. He gripped at her stain and tore at it. She usually responded at once, and with vicious retaliation, but this time he was shrugged off. He redoubled the attack, confused by her distraction, until finally she was forced to face him.

He felt her vengeance at once, ripping at every piece of him. The pain of dying in Cloud's arms was nothing to having the very roots of his soul frozen and devoured. He would have screamed if there were such a thing as breath in the plane of existence where they did battle-would have cried if he'd had tears. As he always did, he blindly searched for any weak spot in her armor, and ended up scrambling against her impenetrable presence. Helpless against her onslaught, with no reprieve, he fought to escape. However, despite the pain and fear, as he tried to get back to the meadow he was filled with sickening anger, knowing full well that Aerith's pitying green eyes would be waiting for him there.

As suddenly as it had begun, Jenova's onslaught suddenly halted, leaving him frozen and breathless in the emptiness for a moment before something ripped and the world warped around him.

He collapsed in a heap, and lost his breath as he slammed into the ground, as though he'd been dropped from a great height. Cold wind bit into his cheek, and leaves crunched under him. He pushed himself up with a groaning scream of effort. His arms trembled at the effort. The wind howled around him, whipping his hair against his cheeks and stinging his eyes. He squinted and lifted a hand, panting for air, every breath he took misting before his face in the freezing cold.

Ahead of him, a figure was walking away smoothly. Long silver hair flowed smoothly in the wind above a smoothly billowing leather coat. Kadaj stiffened at once, eyes widening in a jealous, murderous anger, and his fury lending him strength.

"Sephiroth!" He screamed, launching to his feet and running at full tilt at the man.

The man didn't even flinch at the scream, continuing to walk smoothly and slowly away. Though Kadaj was sprinting with all his might he couldn't catch up to the figure. Ahead of them loomed a mansion. Sephiroth stepped within, silver hair flickering behind him. Behind him, the door closed.

The moment he was out of sight, Kadaj found himself running at full speed rather than in the strange, slowed motions he'd moved with before. He slammed against the door, palms first, and fumbled for the handle in his homicidal rage. He wrenched the thing nearly off its hinges and moved to dash after the man.

At his first step, something crunched sickeningly under his foot. He froze, unnerved for a reason he didn't quite understand himself. He looked down and back slowly, and lifted his foot.

Beneath it was a small skeleton, no bigger than his forearm. Minuscule, fine-boned hands were curled before an only half-developed sternum. The curved ribs that would have framed a heart and lungs were so slim he could have used them as toothpicks. Beneath his boot were the remains of the skull he had crushed in his haste. Someone had painstakingly wired the bones of the tiny skeleton together. Slim strings were tied around the wrists and feet of the baby's bones, leading upwards to a cross of wood, abandoned by the wall.

Kadaj's stomach lurched, despite himself. One of the little things eye sockets was still intact, and stared up at him. He slowly set his foot down behind him, backing away. There was another crunch, and he whirled, finding that he'd crushed the pelvis of another skeletal puppet, this one bigger than the last, large skull disproportionate to the body.

Shaking, Kadaj turned his eyes to the rest of the hallway. It was strewn with the dead bodies of children. Not all of them were skeletons. Glazed eyes with slit pupils stared blankly at him from the almost-intact face of one child. Even as his breath caught in his lungs, he spied several crushed pieces on the puppets before him. Swallowing back nausea, he steeled himself, clinging to rage at the madman responsible for the carnage of his infant brothers, and took off. Every bone that crunched under his feet made his stomach churn.

He took the corner as quickly as he could, eager to be out of the hall of bodies, and spied Sephiroth at once. The man he'd been created from stood casually at the end of the hallway, a smirk on his lips, and a challenge in his eyes. Kadaj screamed in rage and charged him once again. He only barely heard the chuckle that Sephiroth gave before something grabbed his ankle.

He gasped as he wrenched his knee, unable to stop in time to keep from almost falling against the grip. He looked down, wide-eyed, and found the floor itself reaching up to grab him. Before he could fully comprehend the grip, he was suddenly assaulted from all sides as hands stretched out of the very walls. His arms were grabbed in grips as tight as iron bars. He struggled ferociously against the hold at once, but couldn't free himself from their grips. He pulled and fought and thrashed against the confinements. In response, the hallway grew a few more hands to encircle his chest and waist. He screamed in defiance and fury before a final hand clamped over his mouth, seconded by one cupping his head from behind, forcing him into silence.

"Such rage," Sephiroth said smoothly as Kadaj fought in vain against his prison. "I would have thought we were past all that."

Kadaj snarled behind the hand that silenced him, and tasted drywall and plaster. The arms looped around his middle tightened uncomfortably in warning, but Kadaj jerked against the restraints all the same.

"How feisty you are," Sephiroth laughed, walking over smoothly, the even thunder of his boots on the floor full of military precision. "How full of life. Despite all the damage I've done."

Kadaj narrowed his eyes in anger, thrashing against the wall once again, and gasped hollowly as the arms around his chest tightened this time, constricting his lungs. All of a sudden he stilled, looking up at Sephiroth as the man approached him. He was enormously tall, and his cold green eyes studied Kadaj with a hungry intensity. A leather-clad hand suddenly tangled in his hair, jerking his head back, wrenching his neck against the hands. Some of his skin tore at the motion, unable to comply both with the restraints over his mouth and the iron grip in his hair. The taste of blood started to fill his mouth as the hand tightened its grip, pressing his lips against his own teeth.

"And yet," Sephiroth continued, releasing his hair all of a sudden, "I heard that thought in our fight. You hate the flower girl, far more than you could ever hate me, my son."

Kadaj's breath froze in his lungs. Behind one acid green eyes, red flared, and suddenly he could see her. She was glorious, with her silver hair flowing around her as though she were still suspended in a Mako tube. She was bare, and free of the metal slave-collar that Hojo had tried to 'control' her with. Her corpse-colored skin glowed a soft, unnatural blue.

The wall released Kadaj all of a sudden, and he sagged to his knees before her, staring up at her glory. She gazed down at him with displeasure in her gaze. The smug smile had vanished in an instant.

"Mother," Kadaj whispered.

"What right have you to call me that now?" she asked sharply. "You who have betrayed me."

"No!" Kadaj cried desperately, reaching out to grip the hem of Sephiroth's coat, "no, mother, I never meant to!"

Jenova lashed out, kicking him sharply in the chest, and he sprawled on the floor, shaking and pained. She stalked over, bending down to tangle Sephiroth's hand in his hair once more and lift him clean off the floor by it. He whimpered in pain, but only stared at her, drinking in the wondrous sight of her wholeness.

"I thought you were saved," she sneered, mocking. "Purified of me. You have fought me hard enough to be one of Gaia's chosen yourself."

"Please, mother, don't," Kadaj whispered, lifting his hands to grab Sephiroth's wrist, pulling just a little to alleviate the excruciating pain.

"Why did you betray me?" Jenova asked sharply, shaking her youngest son.

"I didn't want to disappear!" Kadaj howled desperately, squeezing his eyes shut.

There was a pause, then slowly Kadaj found himself lowered to his feet. He caught his breath, shivering. Sephiroth's gloved hand released his hair only to stroke down it. Kadaj opened his eyes slowly, amazed by the contact. Jenova looked at him out of Sephiroth's eyes, all of a sudden looking pensive.

"I would never let you disappear," Jenova said softly. "You are a part of me."

Looking up at her, Kadaj latched onto those words with all the hope in the world. A tear slipped down his cheek, caught in dark lashes. His started to tremble, just a little.

"You want me?" he asked softly.

"You are part of me," she reiterated. "As are your brothers and sisters."

"Those bodies in the hallway," Kadaj whispered suddenly, reminded abruptly of the horrible image.

"Prototypes," Jenova said with a disinterested shrug. "Prior to your creation. Unimportant."

"But my family," Kadaj said carefully, not wanting to anger the woman who had so very recently ripped pieces of him to shreds.

"They are here," Sephiroth's voice informed him, as his mother glanced over her shoulder. "Right down that hallway. All the souls claimed by my Stigma-my gift."

Kadaj followed her gaze, catching just a glimpse of a Mako tube filled with black liquid and a small, childish hand pressing against the glass. He stared at it, and suddenly felt a quiet warmth. He wasn't alone.

A strange feeling stirred in the center of his chest. He wavered, then screamed shrilly and sharply as the feeling warped into utter, consuming agony. He slumped, and was caught by strong arms.

"Mother?" he gasped out, terrified by the abrupt pain.

"I've separated you for too long," Jenova said, shaking her head a little. "The flower girl is taking you back."

"I don't want to go!" Kadaj cried, gripping the lapels of Sephiroth's leather jacket.

"You will come back." his mother murmured, leaning down to whisper in his ear, Sephiroth's breath warm against his skin. "The next time they force you into the abyss, call to me. I will come for you again."

Kadaj woke up abruptly, with a hollow gasp. His body jerked impotently around himself. Aerith's wide, green eyes stared down at him, and the scent of flowers overwhelmed him all at once. As he stared up at her, panting raggedly, she cooed softly and stroked a petal soft hand down his cheek. More than ever before, in that moment, Kadaj utterly despised her. He closed his eyes again, already daydreaming of the next time he could see his mother, and ignoring Aerith's soft, sweet voice as she called his name gently.


	24. Chapter 24

Yazoo stared at the disturbed dirt, having no problem reading upside down, but wishing he did. The words were messy, each letter shaky. The fire light made them nearly invisible and their varying depths made their clarity mismatched and haphazard. And yet, despite all the difficulties brought about by the writer's weakness and the materials they were working with, Yazoo had no trouble reading the words.

"That's not true," he whispered darkly.

Sephiroth's eye lifted to him, shining blankly with the firelight. Beside him, Loz was standing, staring fixedly at the written-upon ground. The young remnant was quaking in his boots, so small in his new form that he was barely taller than the seated Sephiroth. Yazoo clenched his eyes shut, feeling his blind eye burning, as it had when the injury was new.

"It is not true," he yelled, clenching his fists.

"Yaz," Loz whispered, breaking off when Yazoo stood abruptly.

"This is," Yazoo growled, floundering for words as he paced, "Just another of your tricks!"

"Yazoo, it makes sense," Loz whispered. "We always knew we were parts of him."

"Not like this!" Yazoo screamed, turning all his fury on the youngest brother.

Loz cowered a little at the shout, wide-green eyes teary. His hands lifted to fumble together before his chest, clumsily, as though he were trying to hold something there. He looked sad, but it was the emotion over the sadness that drove Yazoo wild. Loz was looking at him with pity, as though he were the pathetic child, and not the other way around. His temper flared and he didn't hold it back.

"What would you know anyway?" he said, dropping from a yell to his deadly cool voice, every word dripping with scornful venom. "You never were bright, Loz. Not like Kadaj and I. Pity Mother forgot to put brains in you when you were made. No wonder she never had any use for you."

Loz's wide-eyed hurt look was exactly what Yazoo had been expecting, and exactly what he wanted. It wasn't true of course. It didn't have to be. He could already see the pity in Loz's eyes transforming into anger and bitterness. He knew it was cruel, but Yazoo did not take kindly to being pitied, and he refused to allow it now just to keep from harming Loz's fragile ego.

Loz let out a little whimper as tears streaked down his cheeks, and Yazoo let out a slow breath for a moment. The focus was off him-off the information he wished he'd never discovered. Loz would burst into tears, and scream, and howl, and call him meanie, and try to give him a headache. He would succeed, but it would be how things had always been between them. It would be normal. Then a movement beside Loz reminded him he'd left something out of the equation.

Sephiroth's fingertips were gentle as he touched them to Loz's cheek and brushed a tear away, staring at the glistening liquid on his fingers with utter fixation. The gentle, comforting movement settled Loz instantly as he turned back to the ruined form of their originator, who now made such terrible sense. The rage in the boy's eyes calmed, the same way a disturbed lake surface would settle after a rock was dropped into it. The two of them joined eyes, and Yazoo stiffened as he saw the affection in Loz's gaze. There wasn't pity in that look. Loz looked almostgrateful.

Yazoo whirled without another word and stalked away from the fire, feeling his outer coat blow open over his chest. He ripped the thing off, dropping the mangled remains behind him so it wouldn't slow him down. The cold air chilled his blood-stained chest, and the stench of blood was more powerful without the leather dulling it.

Loz called out to him from the fire's circle behind him, but only once. Yazoo ignored him and kept walking. He was furious with the child for being so supportive of the man who was responsible for their every problem. He wanted to make sure that Loz knew it was a choice between him and Sephiroth, and waited for Loz to follow. Loz had always followed. But not this time.

He closed his working eye for a moment once he was out of view of the fire. He listened for small, clumsy footsteps behind him. The wind rasped hollowly through dead leaves, sending them drifting down like shadows given physical form. Something constricted in his chest. There were no whimpering, pathetic sobs following him reluctantly. No stumbling run of small booted feet. Yazoo strained to hear him, clenching his eyes shut and holding his breath. A beast called in the distance. The smell of smoke was wafting through the air on the sharp, cold breeze.

Loz had remained behind. He had chosen Sephiroth. After all they had been through, this was the last straw. Yazoo opened his eyes again and kept walking, dodging around the trees he once would not have been able to see, and fiercely brushing of the tears that stubbornly fell from his blind eye.

Around him, the trees faded. The night sky faded. All light was lost to him. He was surrounded and swathed in blindness, with nothing to break the uniform landscape. Yazoo didn't care. He sat down where he stood and closed his eyes, his heart breaking as memories rose to overwhelm and choke him. He knew now he would never escape those memories of a life he hadn't lived. They were part of him. They were a property of what he'd been created from. After all, no matter whether Sephiroth's eye was nestled in its socket, staring out at the world, or had been transformed into a pathetic shadow of a remnant, it had still seen everything Sephiroth had.

"I need to go after him," Loz whispered urgently. "He needs me."

Sephiroth shook his head, brows furrowed a little, not releasing his firm hold on Loz's wrist. His eye was strangely soulful, despite its eerie emptiness. Loz could read the guilt in him as easily as the words scribed on the ground. He could also read the uncomprehending worry.

He stopped pulling against the hold and held still for a moment, biting his lip. The moment he stopped trying to get away, Sephiroth released his wrist as though it had burned him. Rather than dropping the hand to shudder weakly in his lap, though, he reached up to trace a finger over Loz's cheek again, catching a fresh flow of desperate tears. The way he looked at the liquid with a strange mixture of wonder and sadness almost overwhelmed Loz.

"I'd forgotten. You can't cry, can you." He whispered to the man he'd been created from.

Sephiroth shook his head again, more slowly. He shot a glance out to the woods, where Yazoo had vanished form the firelight, then looked back to Loz, lifting his fingers just a little.

"Yazoo?" Loz asked, receiving a little nod. "Oh. Yeah. He made me cry, but... But that's okay. He's just hurt. It... It is kinda scary."

Sephiroth lowered his chin a little in shame, his long hair trailing limply around him on the dirty ground. Loz reached out to stroke his hair once in comfort, even as he looked back to the words scrawled on the ground.

"So I'm... A piece of your heart?" He whispered softly. "Is that what the scar on your chest is from?"

Sephiroth nodded slowly and tiredly. Loz couldn't help but notice that Sephiroth neither leaned into nor pulled away from his touch, as though he weren't sure what to do with it. After a moment of silent contemplation, Loz's disturbed thoughts were interrupted by Sephiroth's hand reaching out to trace new words in the dirt with his index finger.

"You were." He wrote painstakingly. "Not now."

"I know." Loz said with a shaky smile as Sephiroth dropped his hand to brace him against the same dirt he'd been writing on. "I wouldn' fit in your chest anymore even now that I'm smaller. Though I'd at least fit better n' Yaz would in your eye socket."

Sephiroth twitched a little, and raised his mangled arm, as though to touch his eye with his missing hand. He seemed to remember just before touching, and dropped the arm to hang uselessly and limply at his side. Loz winced a little, reminding himself that though he couldn't remember the pain, Sephiroth could. He shifted, looking out into the woods after Yazoo before turning his attention back to the tall man beside him. After a moment more of consideration, he nodded to himself and sat at Sephiroth's side, scooting close to him as though he wanted to share in the man's warmth, though in all honesty he was the warmer of the two. Sephiroth allowed the motion, and Loz let himself breathe a sigh of relief that he wasn't as touch shy as Yazoo.

"I really do have to go after him." he murmured.

Despite the words, he pressed against Sephiroth's side until he realized that his proximity was making the musty cloth crumble. He tried to back away a little, but froze when Sephiroth's hand-less arm slowly shifted to rest behind him, clearing more room for the young remnant beside him. Loz instantly took the invitation and snuggled up closer. He watched almost sleepily as Sephiroth wrote again.

"He hurt you intentionally," the big man scrawled.

"He does that," Loz said with a little shrug.

"Not acceptable," Sephiroth wrote as quickly as he could in response.

Loz couldn't help the small smile that lit his features at that. He was tired, and hurting, and it was nice to have someone care. He sniffled, and leaned his head against Sephiroth's shoulder.

"I'll still go after him," Loz murmured. "He lashes out when he's hurt. Just like anyone would. And in his defense, it is kinda... Kinda creepy to know we're literally parts of you."

He reached back as he spoke, tracing careful fingers over where Sephiroth's hand had been. It was as close to touching Kadaj as he had been in quite some time. Somehow it made perfect sense to him, knowing what they were. Yazoo was Sephiroth's eye, privy to all his darkest memories and deepest wisdoms. Kadaj was his hand, driven to do terrible things by powers beyond his control, and with all the aptitude and skill to do them. And he, himself, was a piece of Sephiroth's heart, strong and centered, but filled with emotions that had never before had an outlet. He sniffled again, almost reveling in the tear that fell down his cheek.

"Are we," he whispered after a moment, trying not to let his fear show in his voice, "going to be part of you again?"

Sephiroth shook his head, and that was all the answer Loz needed to relax again. He snuggled up against Sephiroth's side tightly, barely noticing when his hand lifted to rest against the bigger man's chest, where he'd once been hidden beneath ribs and sternum. Under the stiff fabric, Loz felt him give the faintest of twitches at the touch. He almost removed his hand, but Sephiroth fell still again quickly afterwards.

Loz bit his lip, trying to decide which of his million questions to ask next of the man. He finally threw tact to the wind and just asked. He hoped Sephiroth appreciated directness as much as he himself did.

"What about your tongue?" he asked finally. "If none of us have it, then what happened?"

Sephiroth's eyes darkened, and he drew away just a little from Loz. The young remnant looked up to him, watching the reflection of the dancing fire in Sephiroth's remaining eye. He watched it tighten in remembered pain, and watched the slit pupil contract until it was nothing more than a slim slit, marooned in acidic Mako and flames.

"It's okay," he said quickly as he watched the distance grow. "You don't have to tell me."

Sephiroth looked down at him, as though his words had broken some spell on him, then looked away again. Despite his obvious discomfort and displeasure with the subject, he didn't pull away from the boy. Loz pressed against him, feeling him sag slowly, leaning more and more heavily against him as the moments ticked by. Worriedly, he glanced into the woods again, where Yazoo had vanished, then turned his gaze away completely. Yazoo was the one who had stormed off. For once, Loz decided firmly, it would have to be Yazoo who came back to him.

When Sephiroth laid at the fireside, exhaustion forcing him down, Loz curled up with him, closing his eyes and rubbing his aching throat. He wondered if Yazoo's death-wounds were hurting too. He wondered if they'd hurt this badly when he'd been tormenting Yazoo after first finding him. As he drifted off, he realized he'd forgotten to ask Yazoo if he knew who the fierce blonde woman he'd dreamed of was, and decided he'd ask both his companions. In the morning.

He slept like a rock at Sephiroth's side, closer to the fire than the bigger general, and curled up warmly in his loose hold. He dreamed of a love he'd never known how to express. He dreamed of pain that went bone deep, and a longing he'd never understood, and that never faded. Then he had a nightmare.

In the nightmare, he was standing, alone, in the field where he'd awoken. Suddenly, a piece of him was taken, and he realized all at once that it wasn't just a piece of his body-it was a piece of his soul. More and more of him was hacked away as he stood there, unable to move, and with each one he grew emptier, and cared less. He went blind as both is eyes left him, and couldn't even remember what sight had been like. He lost his lips, and tongue, and teeth, but he couldn't even remember what he'd used them for. He lost his heart, and was, for just a moment, so glad to lose it. With his heart gone, he couldn't feel how much he missed everything else.

He woke with a jolt, intending to whirl and grip Sephiroth, anxious to keep him from falling apart, suddenly terrified that too much of him had been stolen for there to be anything left. Before he could turn around, he was confronted with the muzzle of a gun, and froze.

"Mr. President," said a voice he didn't recognize, illuminated only by the first glimmerings of sunlight. "The boy is awake."

He looked up the barrel of the gun into a completely unfamiliar face. Cold eyes looked down on him with a look in them that he recognized readily enough. It was the same way the dark-haired Turk had gazed at him past the blood dribbling down his face-the same way the big Turk had gazed at him from behind his sunglasses. It was a look that was pure Shinra, and a store of hatred in Loz rose at it. If it hadn't been for the gun obviously quite ready to fire above his head, and Sephiroth's limp arm wrapped around his arm and middle, Loz would have risked the gun shot to attack.

"Excellent," rumbled a large, low voice, with an unpleasant rasp to the meaty words. "A few moments later and we would have had some difficulty. Tie them up."

Loz watched as more people moved forward, and crouched, trying to surreptitiously gather his legs beneath himself. To his surprise, as he was preparing to launch himself at the knees of the closest man, the handless arm around his middle clenched down, holding him firmly in place. Sephiroth shifted behind him, and Loz glanced back, finding that the long-limbed man was kicking his leg just a little. Loz realized he was quickly disturbing the ground where they'd been writing the night before. For just a moment, he was overwhelmed with awe at Sephiroth's cool. Then he was grabbed from his arms and hauled away by rough hands.

He struggled then, despite what Sephiroth wished, roaring and kicking. He managed to bite one man firmly on the hand, and spat the blood that got in his mouth into another assailant's face. Despite his struggles, his hands were pulled behind his back and bound firmly. The gun went off, and Loz instantly stiffened and fell silent. The man had shot the ground directly next to the calm, still Sephiroth's head. The prone man didn't even twitch, though the bullet had embedded itself no more than an inch away from his forehead. Loz stared down at him with dawning horror. His green eye had taken on that same glazed, empty look that Yazoo's had when Loz first found him in the Nibelheim mansion.

"It's not him, sir." The man said, bending down to turn Sephiroth's chin so that his empty eye socket was facing upwards, showing it off to the strangers. Loz jerked against his captors in rage. "Probably another copy. Like that boy."

"Well," said the voice who had ordered the others, "so long as he looks like him, he'll suit our purposes."

Loz turned furious eyes to the man who had spoken, and grimaced in distaste. He was a rotund fellow, with an ugly mustache and blocky facial features. And yet, there was something strangely familiar about the icy blue of his eyes. Loz recognized them, with a start, as being quite similar to the eyes of the young president Kadaj had become so attached to. His burgundy suit only made his already blotchy cheeks stand out more starkly against his pathetically pale skin.

Loz glared fiercely at him. The fat man's ugly smile turned on him, with a smug look.

"Some people here in the Lifestream will make me a god for delivering the two of you," he informed the boy in his horrible rumbling voice. "That flower girl will finally see how important I am."

Loz snarled at him, feeling the blood on his teeth, and hoping it made him look rabid. If he touched him with those hammy hands, Loz would bite him too. He was distracted as some of the other men flipped Sephiroth onto his stomach, hauling his arms back behind his back.

"Leave him alone," Loz yelled fiercely, jerking against the bonds that held his arms behind his back, and whimpering as the motion pulled on his still stiff muscles.

The people holding him back snickered at his pathetic struggles. Sephiroth lay unmoving as one of the men binding him knelt on the small of his back to get a better angle on his arms.

"One of his hands is missing," the man said, sounding rather amused. "I can't very well cuff him with only one hand."

"Oh, find some way to tie him up," the fat man scoffed lightly and waved a hand. "We'll just tell the folks we turn them over to that he put up a fight."

"I won't let you do this!" Loz yelled, clenching his eyes shut and jerking against the hands holding on him before throwing his head back and screaming "Yazoo! Yazoo, help!"

One of their captors backhanded him sharply, and he fell silent at once with a hollow gasp.

"Shut up." the man holding one of his biceps growled, giving him a shake. "We don't really have to take you along at all. We could just as easily slice you up and leave you here for the Makoroids. That what you want, boy?"

Loz snapped his mouth shut, even though he didn't know exactly what a Makoroid was. He didn't want to find out. And if they took him with them, he stood a chance of getting Sephiroth away from them. He watched silently, fuming as they wound a rope tightly around Sephiroth's middle, straining the crumbling cloth of the curtain that barely covered him anymore, then tied his good hand to that binding, holding it effectively behind his back while leaving his maimed arm loose to flop around as they dragged him to his feet.

Loz clenched his teeth as Sephiroth refused to stand. A sharp kick to his stomach drew not a sound from the stoic, empty-eyed man but Loz caught himself growling like some feral dog. Finally, the man with the gun tangled a hand in Sephiroth's hair and dragged him a few paces away to what appeared to be a cart and with the help of the others, threw him into the back. Loz didn't fight when he was led over to the self-same cart. A set of chains was uncoiled from the back, behind Sephiroth's knees, and strung out to him. Loz did struggle when they tried to hook a metal collar around his neck.

"Hold still," the gun toter ordered darkly.

"I won't!" Loz yelled back.

He kicked out at the groin of the man trying to chain him. The men holding his arms shoved him backwards to keep the hit from landing, and he toppled to the ground, slamming his head against the hard ground, and his arms screaming in pain as their bonds made it impossible for him to catch himself or get them out of the way.

Before he could struggle up, the gun toter straddled his hips and slammed his head against the ground again. Loz gasped, dazed for a moment as his vision darkened at the hit. When he pulled himself out of the fog, it was too late. He was chained to the cart. The men moved away from him before he could lash out in vengeance, and while he was still struggling to get up, the cart started moving, dragging on the chain that now connect him to it. Every ounce of pain he'd felt in his bruised neck flared to life as he was hauled forward, but the drag did allow him to stumble to his feet.

He glanced back, desperately, to the dead camp fire, expecting to see Yazoo burst from the woods at any moment. The undergrowth remained stubbornly still. The ashes smoldered, surrounded by disturbed dirt and the shredded remains of Yazoo's coat.

Loz turned back to the convoy, struggling to keep up as the cart picked up its pace, and stared at Sephiroth's still form. A tear slipped down his cheek, and he wondered, all of a sudden, if he'd made a mistake choosing to stay by his progenitor's side.


	25. Chapter 25

The sun was blazing down on Loz from above. His leathers absorbed every bit of warmth it projected, overheating his skin to the extreme. It was like being trapped in his own personal sauna. He panted heavily as he walked, unable to wipe away the beads of sweat tracing tortuously down his face. His hair had collapsed pathetically in the heat, plastered to his forehead and cheeks with sweat. The metal collar around his neck burned, the silver reflecting more light than his black leathers, but still absorbing far more than was comfortable.

He swallowed hard, with some difficulty, before going back to his pathetic, gasping pants for breath. The cart hadn't stopped once since it started moving. High noon had come and gone, and in that single half-day of walking, they had traveled from the mountains down into a desert wasteland. The high plateaus rising around them provided some small protection from the brutal sun's rays, but Loz had discovered that if he let his relief show too palpably the men driving him would go out of their way to leave the shadows behind.

Unlike him, all of them were wearing wide-brimmed hats, and dusty colored clothing to protect them from the heat. All except the one they'd called President. He rode on the front of the cart that they'd thrown Sephiroth onto, seated like a king, fanning himself lightly as they went. He wasn't driving the cart, but instead riding with the same assured confidence as a king might being born on the shoulders of his slaves. The cart was drawn by a pair of chocobos-the first animals Loz had seen in the Lifestream, aside from the monster that had attacked him and Yazoo. It felt like such a long time ago that it had happened, but he knew the scar on his arm was still fresh. There were four other giant birds, each ridden by one of the thugs who had helped kidnap him. His only respite from their cruelty was the unwillingness of the birds to go anywhere near him. If the drivers rode too close, the birds would balk and shy, as though Loz were a snake, ready to strike. He supposed their fear explained the absence of animals in their travels.

His midriff where he'd been stabbed so recently, stung and burned as he moved. It had started out agonizing, but had shifted into a pervasive, bone-deep ache the longer he moved. His neck was worse. Each small tug or shift of the collar sent agony spiking through him, intense enough to make him stagger. He hadn't been able to fight against the drag of the cart at all, despite himself. He'd tried, at first, but had only ended up falling. They hadn't stopped the cart then either, but dragged him along behind them until he struggled to his feet once more. He could feel dried blood where the collar had broken his skin during the short, uncomfortable period of being dragged. He was faintly thankful it hadn't snapped his neck all together. It had felt like it for a while.

He glanced up to Sephiroth from the uneven, rocky desert soil. The man had remained lying as still as death, his back to Loz, the entire trip. He hadn't so much as twitched while Loz was watching. His bound hand hung limp and pale where it was bound to his waist, twisted as far behind his back as the men who had tied him could manage. Loz kept watching though, as though waiting for the man to explode into motion and obliterate their captors. He was Sephiroth after all. He should by all rights be ten times as strong as all the thugs combined. But so far, Sephiroth had done nothing.

Loz lowered his eyes again, licking his dry lips, tasting the heavy coating of dust on his cracked skin. He was really thirsty. He allowed himself a moment of longing, wishing that they might run across some sort of mystical spring again, like the one Angeal had led him to. But, he supposed, he himself probably wouldn't be able to find it. Angeal was like Zack-special, and human in a way he would never quite grasp. He let out a dusty sigh, and coughed raggedly as the exhalation aggravated his already ragged breathing.

One of the riders urged his chocobo over as close to him as it would go, and Loz stiffened. The men had only approached once or twice, and every time it was to torment or taunt him. And he'd thought Yazoo was a relentless jerk. Well, he reconsidered, he was. But right around now he'd happily take any of Yazoo's sharp, hurtful words. As if to prove his point, the man pulled out a water flask and took a long, conspicuous drink from it. Loz couldn't help but swallow as a trickle of the liquid slid past the man's lips, dribbling down his neck and under the bandanna he wore around his throat. He'd thought he was thirsty back when the sun was at its highest, but the day seemed to have only gotten hotter since then, and he was quite certain that he was roasting slowly under his leathers.

The man lowered his flask with a satisfied sigh, and sent a superior, wicked smile to Loz. The young remnant instantly jerked his head away, trying to pretend he hadn't been watching. His hands were shaking in their bonds, sweat-soaked and wrists bruised from trying to escape their confinement. Part of him had hoped the sweat would make his hands slick enough that he could slide them out, but it hadn't worked. He'd tried dislocating his own thumb to remove his hand, but he just couldn't get enough force into his movements to do it. Before he'd managed, one of the men had ridden over to the cart and given the chain connecting his neck to the rear of it a sharp jerk of warning.

Loz closed his eyes tightly for a moment, eyes too dry and dusty to well up with tears. His cheeks were already burning so hot with the sun that shame couldn't rise any more of a blush form them than there already was. He still felt his body try. He hung his head lower, unable to muster the energy even for a glare. The man gave a cruel laugh, then urged his chocobo away again. Loz lifted his gaze from the dusty ground, and his sand-covered boots to stare at the rifle slung over the man's shoulder with a faintly hungry look. Guns weren't his forte, but he could use them. It had been so long since he'd held a weapon-any weapon-that he gladly would have taken a pair of child's safety scissors as a means of defense.

He drew in a soft, hiccuping breath. Lifting his acid green eyes to the sky, he stared up at the cloudless blue and yearned for a change. For night to fall, or the stupid birds to drop dead, or anything of the like. He didn't dare allow himself to long for Yazoo to appear. Even if Yazoo did come, it would probably just mean he got captured as well, and Loz didn't wish that on his brother. Not even when he was painfully hot and being dragged through the desert.

He glanced up at Sephiroth again out of weary, lidded eyes, and froze for a moment before a jerk on his collar forced him into movement once again. The hand which had before laid perfectly still was moving. Sephiroth's pointer finger was extended, the rest of his fingers curled into a fist. He traced a shape in the air as Loz watched, like a semi circle, then cupped his whole hand, as though to frame the shape he had just traced. Then his pointer finger extended once again, this time tracing a straight line, and a curve connecting the bottom of the invisible line to the tip. His hand curled again, slowly, this time into a circle made with all his fingers but the first, which remained sticking upwards, like a tail on the circular figure. Then he traced another shape, straight down, with three lines shooting off, from top, bottom, and middle.

Loz blinked, then gasped, realizing what he was seeing. The alphabet-letters. Sephiroth was giving him a silent code. He watched avidly, not even glancing down when he stumbled again. If the captors noticed his attention, they ignored it. He struggled to force his heat-addled mind to focus on memorizing every one of the symbols. Yet as hard as he tried, he couldn't stop some of the signs from escaping him. When Sephiroth scribed out 'Z,' he fell still. Loz glanced around at his captors, all focused on the forward movement, and picked up his pace just a little, drawing ever so slightly closer to the creaking wooden cart.

"Once more," he whispered, his voice choked with sand, "please."

"No talking," one of his captors snapped, turning to fire a shot into the ground by Loz's feet.

Loz jumped and whimpered, staring at the man out of wide, sand-burned eyes. The man quickly lost interest, slinging his rifle back over his shoulder and turning back to the ride, lifting a hand to wipe the sweat off his brow. Loz bit his lip, grimacing at the taste of salty blood on his cracked lips mingling with the atrocious dust-taste that filled his senses. He looked back to Sephiroth, brows twisted in hope that the man had heard him. Sephiroth lay perfectly still, as though he'd never moved, and Loz almost lost hope before, slowly, a long finger extended on the man's hand, and painstakingly traced the letter A in the air.

This time, Loz was more awake, adrenaline from the fear of being shot at sharpening his wits. He hung on every symbol, memorizing the hand-shape alphabet that Sephiroth was spelling out for him. It wasn't exactly the daring escape he'd been hoping for, but at least he knew the man had not completely shut him out. This time, when Sephiroth finally reached "Z," Loz had memorized every single shape of the hand, and ran through them himself, over and over and over as they walked through the barren landscape. He clung to the possibility of communication with a painful hope, but with Sephiroth collapsed with his back to him, Loz couldn't use it yet so he worked on making the shapes, spelling out words to himself-his own name, Yazoo's, Sephiroth's-until he could do it smoothly and without having to struggle to remember the shape of the next letter.

Encouraged by the sneaky way of speaking, Loz tried something new. Rather than trying to escape his cuffs, he twisted his hands, rubbing them against each other. He struggled to bend his arms up further behind himself, until he finally reached the buckle he knew was there. He fumbled at it, working at the strap that crossed his chest until it fell silently away into the sand. Loz cast a single glance back at the strip of black leather laying in the sand, unsure who he thought would find it.

But as they walked on, he realized that was a lie. He knew exactly who would find it. Yazoo would. His older brother would realize he was gone and follow. Loz wasn't even hoping for it. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was. Yazoo was angry-not monstrous. He wouldn't abandon his brother, and Loz knew he had left enough signs of a struggle to alert his brother to the danger.

Loz closed his eyes against the hot, unrelenting desert, and took a deep breath of the sand-infested air. Ahead of him, a chocobo let out a quavering wark into the quietly hissing desert landscape. Loz heard the President laugh in his ugly way at something one of his men said. But behind it all, he could hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. He promised himself, right then and there, that as long as that rhythm continued, he would fight their captors, and try to get back to Yazoo. At any rate, no matter how much both of them changed, they were still parts of the same whole. Neither could leave the other behind.

He wished that his brother could get Zack's help in finding him. It didn't seem fair that the gentle-spoken SOLDIER had been there to help him, but wouldn't be there for Yazoo. It was his fault that he wouldn't, too. He had made that choice for them both, though he still didn't know who, exactly, he had been speaking to when he decided to do things on their own. He almost regretted it, but not quite. They were brothers. They had existed with no one but themselves and Kadaj since they were first created, and that was the way it was always intended to be.

His head drooped towards his chest, but he snapped himself back to wakefulness before he could fall completely asleep. The adrenaline and excitement had worn off, leaving him exhausted and ragged. His feet hurt, his leather boots blistering him as he walked, his sweat-soaked skin rubbing against his socks painfully. His shadow was long and distorted before him, and looking at it, he felt like he was looking at the shadow of who he'd been in life-an enormously tall figure, mountainous compared to who he was now. If he'd still been that man, he probably would have been able to break the handcuffs, or might have been able to fight against the brutality of their captors. The shadow wavered as he walked over ripples in the sand, inconstant as a mirage. The shadow of the chain fell above his head, making him look like a puppet or a doll, suspended from above.

He looked away, his eyes heavy and tired, and his breath rasping dryly through his mouth. His stomach growled forlornly, despite his undeniably dead status. The collar on his neck shifted, pressing differently on the bruises around his neck, sending new pain through his aching neck. Gritty air wheezed in and out of his bone-dry mouth. His lips were cracked. The chocobo drawing the cart sped up, jerking him forwards a little, making his sore feet stumble, blistered and smarting. He felt as though he was baking beneath his leathers. A trail of sweat snuck down the back of his neck, dipping below his lapel to trace all the way down his back. Loz didn't even have the energy to squirm.

"Yazoo," he whispered softly to himself, though he wasn't sure why.

"Stop the cart," grated the robust, fat voice of the President as snapped the fan he was using shut.

The chocobo were reined in, letting out angry, indignant warks as they tossed their heads against the reins. Loz stumbled forward a step or two, out of sheer rote before forcing himself to a halt. His legs trembled weakly under him as he forced his eyes up to the rotund man heaving himself off the front of the cart. On either side of him, the riders urged their chocobos threateningly closer. Loz pulled back as far as he could, stopping when the collar around his neck jerked against the bruises on the back of his neck. The President walked closer, pouring sweat and with a distasteful frown on his face.

"Obviously you don't understand the concept of 'silence,' boy," the President said as he walked closer still.

Loz looked him over, eyes wide and burning from all the sand in them. The President was within his reach now. He didn't have the use of his arms, but he could rush forward now, and still do some damage. He glanced over, and found a gun trained on him from every other rider. Trembling, he shifted further away from the armed men, and their approaching leader. The chain tightened with a clink of metal, and Loz pulled against it, jerking back as the fat man continued to approach him.

The President stopped scant feet away from him, and Loz dug his feet into the sand, trying to get a good enough stance to pull more effectively at the chain. The collar chafed and yanked at his skin, and his bruised flesh ached, but he refused to stop pulling back. He slipped, almost falling, unable to help but cry out as more of his weight was rested on the hard steel around his neck.

He corrected quickly, but by the time he had, the President had motioned to two of the riders to dismount. One of them was removing his belt as he walked, smoothly, with the bandanna covering his face hiding his expression. Loz was certain he wasn't imagining the smug, amused look in his eyes.

"You're just going to have to learn a lesson in obedience," the President said with a twisted smile.

The man who'd held the gun to his head before was approaching slowly, pulling the bandanna off his neck. Loz strained against the chain, putting on a mask of desperation, even as he calculated. The man took one more step forward, and reached out to grab him. Loz dropped like a rock, forcing his legs to give out, and letting the chain keep him in line. In the same movement, as smoothly as silk, he whirled, sticking one leg out to his side. He winced as the sweaty collar stuck to his flesh, fighting his turning motion, and the sand parted around his pivoting foot.

Despite the clumsy discomfort of the movement, it was undeniably effective. The gunman fell, and the President was not far behind him. Loz took his chance, dashing forward, launching off the more solid mass of the President's body rather than the soft, loose sand. He turned, grabbing the place where his chain was bolted to the cart behind his back. He gripped it hard in his cuffed hands, lifting a leg to the edge of the cart, and pulling hard against it. The metal gave a forlorn little creak. Then the gun went off.

Loz gasped hollowly as something tore across his side. His muscles convulsed at the pain as a pullet ripped through the extreme right of his stomach, tearing more skin than doing actual damage. He choked on his breath, feeling like he'd had a burning hot poker laid across his side. He fell to the ground, feeling like he was dropping very slowly. His left leg was quickly getting soaked with hot liquid.

He dropped to the sand, twisting towards the attacker as he fell. The man in the driver's seat of the cart was still pointing the smoking handgun at him. Loz hit the ground hard, and screamed. The sand ground into the bloody hole in his torso, his hands and arms wrenching as they were pinned under him. He thrashed, helplessly, against this bonds, now tangled in his own chain. With every movement, the coarse, harsh sand seemed to burrow deeper inside of him.

As he screamed, a harsh hand clamped over his jaw, and even as Loz opened his eyes to struggle again, his mouth was suddenly invaded by the horrible, gut-twisting taste of sweat and sand. He screamed as a heavy presence pinned him down, kneeling right over the new bullet wound in his side. The scream was muffled, and though he thrashed and fought, another man grabbed his legs and held him down. He caught a glimpse of red fabric, and let out a shrill, indignant shriek.

The man above him ignored the sound, shoving his dusty bandanna harshly down into the boy's mouth, even deeper, sliding it back far enough that Loz gagged before clamping his hand over the boy's cracked, dry lips. He held out his free hand, and was passed a second scrap of fabric. Another pair of hands grabbed Loz by the hair and jerked his head up so the man could tie the fabric around his head. It was jerked tight-horribly tight, sliding between Loz's lips and teeth, holding the other bandanna in its place down his throat.

Loz gagged, and writhed, fighting to scrape the gag off without the use of his hands. He was released for a moment to thrash alone, then the hands returned. He glared up at them as a third and final bandanna was wrapped firmly around his eyes. He tried to slash the invasive hands with his bared teeth, but he was helpless against their rough strength. He struggled against them none the less as they grabbed him and hauled him up. His torso was thrown on the back of the cart. He was so close that despite the noise of his own heavy breaths and the sounds of the other men, he could hear Sephiroth breathing.

A brisk hand unbuttoned the pants of his leathers and dragged them down to his ankles. Loz was dazed and breathless, and didn't struggle this time. He couldn't breathe through his nose. It was clogged with dust and tears, and with his mouth stuffed full of salty, dusty fabric. He came instantly alive again at the first crack of a belt across his exposed rear. He struggled, trying to get out of the helpless position, but one of the men had hold of his bound hands and was holding his torso firmly on the cart.

The belt snapped again, even harder than the last time, and Loz thrashed in pain, tears leaking silently from his eyes to soak the blindfold. He sobbed raggedly as the belt cracked against his skin, over and over, the already over-heated skin awoken to new levels of pain. The blows rained down on him, endlessly. Loz fought, and sobbed, and choked, but was helpless to stop the onslaught. Ahead of him, he heard Sephiroth's breathing, deep and even and unchanging.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the beating finished. He'd given up fighting by then. His bottom was stinging and smarting over every inch. He could feel little trickles of blood twining down his thighs. Someone ran a meaty hand over the bruised and broken flesh, and Loz barely had the energy to whimper. At the choked, muffled sound, the owner of the hand laughed, reveling himself to be the President. The man gave his already agonizing flesh a sharp slap before pulling away.

His pants were pulled back up and fastened. Someone pressed another piece of dirty fabric over the bullet wound in his side, and Loz moaned lowly at the pain. The very same belt that had just laid his flesh open was bound over the fabric, tightly, holding the makeshift bandage down. Without warning, he was thrown off the cart roughly, and lay there in the dust and sand. He was struggling just to draw enough breath through his nose. He only dimly heard the movements of the men around him as they re-mounted and prepared. His stomach was lurching with pain, his side burning from the bullet that had torn him open, small caliber or not.

He heard the cart start moving, and forced himself into motion. He moaned at the first tug on his collar as he was dragged through the dust. He stumbled to his feet, and would have screamed but for the barbaric gag that held his mouth open and choked him. Every movement was an agony, and yet holding still allowed the collar to yank against his bruised and damaged neck.

He staggered after the cart, sobbing roughly, feeling suffocated and trapped, and unable to do a thing about it. The cart rolled on, and through the warping sound of impending unconsciousness, he heard the men laughing at him as he staggered blindly along in their wake. He forced himself to stay upright-to stay awake. He tried to be strong. It might have worked if he'd been able to breathe, but his hazy brain couldn't keep up with the pain, and the blood, and the reek of someone else's sweat jammed into his mouth. Tears streaked down from his blinded eyes as the men, laughing, started driving the cart in a serpentine to force the blind boy into struggling to keep track of where he could be yanked next.

There was no escape. There were no options. Loz struggled merely to keep breathing. He needed something to hold onto. Something to cling to. Behind his back, his shaking fingers twitched, deprived of blood by the tight cuffs. That numbness was infinitely pleasurable compared to the pain in his rear and the agonizing pain of simple breathing. The bullet wound screamed for attention, burning, his every movement furthering the damage. It was too much. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He needed a distraction.

Behind his back, his trembling fingers slowly closed, thumb and pinky extended. Then he folded those as well, thumb tucked to the side of his closed hand. extending one finger, he traced a zig zag, twice. Finally, his hand curled into a circle, the center open. Then he started over again, retracing the letters. He barely even realized that his fingers were only spelling out one name, over and over.

"Yazoo."

Yazoo sat unmoving in the blankness, trying to access the void again. He'd done it once before, in Sephiroth's mansion, and longed to feel that relief again. His heartbeat slowed, and his lips parted slowly, limply, as he sagged. He knew he shouldn't do this-he'd come dangerously close to not coming back last time-but it was so easy and calming to be a puppet for a little while. He stared out into the empty world around him, eyes half-lidded and glazed. He felt somewhat more whole in the blankness. Being blind in both eyes made him feel evened out, and complete.

He allowed himself to catch his breath, in the quiet that surrounded him. He wondered if it honestly was silent in the woods, or if his hearing had vanished like his vision had. Either way, it was surprisingly restful. His chest felt less compressed, now that he was out from under the unrelenting gaze of Sephiroth's single eye which he had once been the twin of.

He was empty of thought, his mind falling into a blissful quiet after the maddening whirl of memories he'd been subjected to before. He wasn't sure if he was awake or asleep, but the blank landscape remained, either way. It was comfortingly empty. He absently stroked his fingers through the dead leaves underneath him. He couldn't hear them shift and rustle anymore. With an almost contented sign, he let his bleary, glazed eyes fall closed.

Something interrupted the silence, and he snapped his eyes back open, darting them around the quiet forest. The noise had been indistinct-distant-but it was enough to awaken the paranoia that dwelt deep inside Yazoo's very soul. His breathing sped up again, the emptiness he'd found so relaxing moments ago suddenly taking on a sinister cast.

"Yazoo!" Loz's voice screamed, echoing through the silent woods.

Yazoo jumped instantly to his feet, turning in a circle, disoriented by the echo of the voice. A gunshot sounded, resounding, and everything fell silent. He felt like his heart stopped beating.

"No," he whispered, his voice falling flat and empty in the still landscape. "Loz, no."

Helplessly, he looked around the emptiness around him, searching for any sign of change-any signal that he could use to find his little brother. The forest remained stubbornly empty, and his memory could not pinpoint what direction the gunshot or the scream had come from. He clenched his fists tightly, panic welling in his chest. He shouldn't have left Loz alone. He should never have left him. It was his fault.

His memory suddenly kicked in again, as though jolting awake from a nightmare, but this time it was not with the memories of Sephiroth. It was a memory of Cloud's mother, with her intense blue eyes crinkled slightly in amusement, and holding just a little bit of a superior glint. He wondered why it had popped into mind, even as he moved forward shakenly, trying to remember which direction in the empty plane he'd come from. Her voice rose with the memory, rich and full of a good humor he hadn't understood.

"You see things that interest you," she had said, with a fond, distant smile. "Those that you care about, and nothing more."

He hadn't believed it. He did now. Yazoo clenched his eyes shut as tightly as he could, and fought like hell to start caring about the gods-awful forest. It was difficult to do. All his mind wanted to do was fixate on that gunshot-on Loz's voice-on how many ways that gunshot might have killed his little brother. He fought none the less, completely bewildered by the thought of being interested in an inanimate landscape, but struggling to make it matter to him.

He thought of the Forgotten City, with its eerie, silvered trees, and remembered a faint interest that had risen in him. He'd liked the forest, even if distantly. He latched onto the memory, and slowly opened his eyes. The world flickered into existence around him, as though the entire forest were a guttering candle flame.

He didn't give it time to go out. He had found his way and started running before he could consciously decide to. He wouldn't lose Loz. Not to anyone. He ran like a dark shadow through the insubstantial landscape.

When he reached the smoldering remains of their camp fire, he froze. At first look, it was the same, but stepping closer, he found too many footprints. The words Sephiroth had written were scuffed out fiercely, and nearby was a deep, narrow hole in the ground. Yazoo wiggled a finger into it and pulled out a bullet. There were no bloodstains. He let out a long, shaking breath, clasping his hand around the metal rifle's slug, and lifted his head, quickly, decoding the rest of the prints around their campsite.

It never occurred to him to think of how easy it was for him to see the marks around the campground. He didn't have to expend a single effort to make the scuffed dirt matter. A little ways away from the fire, he found two slim lines, like wagon wheels treads. Stumbling after them, Yazoo found little, scuffed boot-prints. He knelt on one knee, placing a hand over one of the marks. The foot that made it had been smaller than his hand. He lifted his head, watching the wheel marks stretch on into the forest, and rose smoothly and abruptly to his feet, soreness forgotten.

He spared only a moment to move back to the camp ground and pick up his discarded jacket, slinging the ruined fabric over his shoulders and letting it hang loose around him. As he walked back to the wheel prints, he broke into a jog to follow them, his slim chest bare to the air, dried blood tugging on his pale skin. He didn't slow his movements in the slightest, but settled into a brisk, long-lasting run as he followed the marks, unsure of how far behind he was, and not wanting to waste a moment.

He never looked away from the prints he was following, but if he had, he would have seen a completely empty landscape, with a single path stretching ahead of him, following the marks made by his little brother's stumbling feet, and the prints of his kidnapper's mounts.


	26. Chapter 26

By the time they finally stopped that night, Loz had given up doing anything but walking. His brain felt like it had been filled with a beehive that droned endlessly and without meaning as it stung and smarted. His eyes burned with sweat and dirt from the filthy bandanna tied over his eyes, but the tears that might have cleaned the grit out of them had dried up. Every breath he took stung in his dry nose, and a trickle of blood was sliding down from one nostril over the gag that silenced him. It mingled with the fluid leaking from his cracked lips, leaving his face a gory, filthy mess. He'd choked on blood and mucus more than once, but he'd kept walking.

When the cart stopped before him, he was so focused on putting one foot in front of the other he didn't noticed the Chocobos had been reined in until he ran into the back of the cart. Through the buzzing in his ears and the moan of pain that escaped him, he heard the men laughing derisively. He sagged as the cart remained unmoving before him, collapsing slowly in the sand. His shoulders had long ago gone numb, and he'd lost feeling in his hands as well. The collar around his neck slipped in the blood and sweat that coated him.

As he hit the ground, he moaned again in pain, the marks from his beating flaring in agony. The bruises and welts stretched all the way from his lower back to his thighs, and had gotten no time to rest or recover during the relentless march.

Loz weakly turned, flopping to the ground on his side, pulling his shaking, over-worked legs up towards his chest and ducking his chin. The position constricted his lungs further still, and he gave a muffled, choking cough, aspirating blood, and the loose, dusty sand that he was now collapsed in. And yet, though he choked and writhed on the dirt, no one touched him. It was an exquisite change. He slumped, finally, when his lungs were clear enough, turning his face at least a little away from the dust. The air was cool on his burning cheeks, without a whisper of wind. His leathers had cooled, at least somewhat, and were losing heat by the moment in the newly chilled air. He couldn't see anything from behind his blindfold, and dared not open his eyes, lest he receive another dose of gritty sand on his irises. Two half-blind relatives was enough. He wanted to keep his eyes.

Around him, the noises of camp were slowly dissipating. The Chocobos were giving lighter, softer warks, from a distance, and he could no longer hear the men moving directly around him. Nearby, a hammer set to work, pounding rhythmically against something metal, setting up a ringing, sharp cadence. Loz lay in the sand, lost in the ache that infused his very bones, but reveling at the lack of motion. It was an incredible improvement over being forced to walk on and on.

His side was still stabbing with pain with every breath, but the bullet wound didn't seem to be bleeding nearly so much now. He knew next to nothing about medicine, though, and he wasn't sure if that was because it was healing, or just because he'd lost a lot of blood, and there wasn't that much more to pump out. Unfortunately, resting also gave his body a chance to catch up on all its latest woes and hurts. A spike of pain shot through him from the shoulder he was collapsed on, and he gave a low, pathetic cry behind his gag, twisting just a little to try and alleviate the pain, and only succeeding in awakening more of it.

He was so wrapped up in trying to escape the all-pervasive agony he didn't hear the footsteps approaching. When a hand touched his shoulder, lightly, he screamed in fear, struggling fiercely at once, to no avail. Even the scream came out as barely a whimper from behind the gag. He slowed suddenly as all the blood drained from his head, leaving him bleary and drifting, at the edge of consciousness.

"Shh," whispered a deep, firm voice. "Keep quiet, kid. I'm not going to hurt you."

Loz gave a little, frightened whimper as the hand moved over his shoulder, jerking away from it whenever he could, but froze as the hand reached the blindfold that covered his eyes. There was a moment of nothing, then he felt the man's fingers working at the tie. He held perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe as the cloth was finally-finally pulled away. He blinked his eyes open, then whimpered, shutting them again quickly. The motion made it feel like his eyelids were full if tiny daggers, all digging into him.

"Hold on," the man muttered, "This'll help."

Cold water slid over Loz's face, and he gasped so sharply he choked again, arching desperately towards the cool stream. A hand caught his head, holding him in place firmly as the water trailed over his eyes. He gave a brief, desperate whimper as he was pinned.

"I'll give you a drink in just a second," the voice whispered furtively. "Open your eyes."

Loz resisted a moment, then relented under the hold, squinting his eyes open to be washed out. Finally, the stream of water stopped, and Loz turned slowly to look at the man who was helping him, small, whimpering sounds escaping his throat. The man was big-one of the biggest men in the group of kidnappers. He stared down at the young remnant with firm eyes out of a dark face, and Loz almost wished the sand would open him up and swallow him. Everything about the man screamed 'predator.' Except for what he was doing.

"I'm gunna take that gag out and give you a drink now," the man rumbled, glancing behind himself. "So be a good kid and keep it quiet, huh?"

Loz's eyes widened, and he gave an almost frantic nod. He could feel tears welling in his bone-dry eyes, the salt in the water burning. If the man noticed his desperate tears, he ignored them. Large, rough hands found the hard knot in the gag, and undid it briskly. He pulled the outer bandanna off, but clamped his hand over Loz's cracked, bloody lips.

"Not a sound." he whispered hoarsely.

As soon as Loz had given the slightest nod, the man slowly slipped two fingers into Loz's mouth and pulling out the disgusting, saliva-soaked bandanna that had been shoved down his throat. Loz gagged, helplessly, then clenched his jaw shut, struggling to maintain his silence, curling in on himself, struggling to swallow with his mouth dry and full of dirt. He retched as a hand forced his mouth open, but fell instantly silent and still as water flowed past his lips.

The relief of the lukewarm liquid pouring into his mouth was unparalleled. It was like being handed life back on a platter. He gulped greedily at the liquid, ignoring he stinging in his side as he tried to sit up closer to it, his burning, gritty eyes closing in pleasure.

Drinking was surprisingly exhausting, and only a few gulps of water later he collapsed back on the sand, gasping for breath, his bloody lips soaking up the spilled moisture from the flask. His ribs expanded under his sticky, sweat-drenched leathers with every gasp of breath he stole, and he felt himself awaken slowly.

He opened his sticky, blurry eyes to the evening sky, blinking up at his savior. The man knelt over him with a stern look in his eyes, and a frown on his lips. Loz struggled to catch another proper breath to ask why he was being helped, but he couldn't draw the breath to get it out. He just lay there, panting, with his mouth hanging open like a landed fish and his eyes sending tears down his face in a desperate try to clear the lingering sand from them.

"Take it easy," the man murmured, his dark eyes staring down at him for a long moment before lifting his head to glance around.

Loz followed his gaze from where he lay on his bound hands. The sands were glowing a darker purple in the low light, and around them tents were being erected. The sound of long stakes being driven into the sandy ground permeated the air. Loz opened his mouth to speak again, but all that escaped him was a dry wheeze of breath.

"Drink," the man instructed, putting the canteen back to Loz's lips. "It's not surprising your voice is shot."

Loz drank in huge, deep gulps, until he couldn't any more, then collapsed yet again with a soft sigh. He closed his eyes as the man moistened one of the cleaner handkerchiefs and carefully cleaned the dust off his face. The remnant remained unmoving as the touch was removed to unbuckle the belt cinched tight around his waist and clean out the bloody bullet wound on his side.

His brain felt empty, as though everything had been drained from him. As the man worked, he lifted his eyes towards the cart that now seemed to tower above him in the darkness, but at the angle he lay in, he couldn't see Sephiroth. The air was thick with the cries of angry, strong men yelling at one as they set up a camp for the night. The President's bellowing orders made Loz feel sick to his stomach. He closed his eyes, letting his imagination take over for a moment.

In his mind's eye, he pretended he could see Yazoo, running like a silver streak through the desert, with his coat billowing around his legs and his hair whipping away from his face. In his daydream, the sand he'd struggled to see and breath through had no effect on his stoic brother's rescue attempt. He imagined Yazoo following the tracks of Chocobo and cart before they were swallowed by the ever sifting sand.

His brother's pale face was set in absolute, stern determination, eyes narrowed and his lips tightly pursed. He never stopped running-never slowed for an instant-but ran on and on, towards his hurting, frightened little brother.

He imagined Yazoo finding the leather strap he'd left behind. The elder brother slowed and stopped, dropping slowly to one knee and lifting the strap carefully, in both hands, as though it were a dead snake. His slim, strong fingers curled around the strap, in a white-knuckled grip, as he rose once again. Loz watched him buckle it around his own shoulders, crossing over his chest like half of Sephiroth's uniform leather coat, and set back to running, the setting sun making him shine like a pale mirage in the darkening desert.

"Hey. Kid." a rough voice snapped. "C'mon. Don't fall asleep on me."

Loz cracked his eyes open wearily, gazing not at his brother, but at the stranger who'd helped him. His chest ached, briefly, longing for his brother's intense, hooded gaze. He could almost see the pale-green orb on his brother's right side staring out at him, showing far more emotion than it should have. But imagining did not change the reality that he was being studied by dark brown eyes, out of a stranger's face. He blinked twice, then gave a soft little cough, trying to clear his voice. The man frowned disapprovingly at the rattling sound it made.

"Why are you," Loz grated weakly, "helping me?"

"I told you not to talk, kid." The man said sharply. "And I'm not going to help you get away, if that's what your thinking. I just don't like seein' kids get beat up. You'll get what's comin' to you when the time is right."

Loz felt his brows twist in misery at the pronouncement, even as his eyelids drooped wearily from exhaustion. The man glanced away again as Loz shifted in weary discomfort. He was so tired of being betrayed, and abandoned and hurt. He was just tired all together. He closed his eyes, feeling sleep pulling eat him, and heard the faintest shift from up on the cart he was collapsed against.

He knew it was Sephiroth, but the sound raised no emotion in him. He'd given up hoping that the man would ever do anything to help him. After all, he'd just lain there, unmoved, while Loz had screamed and begged for the pain of the beating to stop. Why would he do anything now? He turned his head a little away from the cart, trying not to listen to the deep, slightly raspy breathing of the man he'd briefly thought of as family.

Yazoo cradled the strap of leather in both hands, watching it droop sadly, tiredly over his hands. Both his eyes burned. The one that still saw was staring intently at the slim strip that draped over his ungloved hands, protected from the fiercely blowing sand by long lashes. His blind eye hadn't stopped crying since he started running. He'd stopped bothering to wipe the tears away. Sand stuck to the wet skin, and went completely ignored.

He clenched his hands around the leather, lifting his head to stare after the fading tracks through the sand. It had been getting harder and harder to follow through the path since they entered the sandy desert. The wind was constantly blowing, shifting the dust to cover the footprints. It had gotten worse once the plateaus had transitioned into something more like dunes, all sand and dust and blinding daylight. The sun had set now, and the wind had stilled, but sand still shifted, trailing down from the tops of the dunes to cover the footprints from where the convoy had traveled in the valley between mounds of sand.

Yazoo almost lifted a hand to rub at his smarting eyes, but paused, remembering how much sand was stuck to his skin. He'd only do more damage rubbing. He returned his attention to the strap in his hands. It was still covered with sand-dirty, and scratched from all of the wear and tear Loz put on it. There was no doubt in Yazoo's mind that it was Loz's.

When he'd found it, half-buried in the sand, he'd initially thought it was a snake. He'd nearly ducked around it to avoid any distractions or damage before recognizing the gleam of a buckle at one end. It had terrified him to recognize the little, slim strip as part of Loz's uniform. He'd thought of all the ways and all the reasons it could have fallen off, but when he'd lifted it, he'd been awed to find it whole. It had strange marks on it, rubbed across the smooth, black surface. It had been rubbed, and scuffed, and eventually torn through. It was the kind of damage that would have taken time and effort. Yazoo stared down at it, and saw deliberate damage. He knew, immediately and instinctually, that this was Loz's work-a display of brute strength mixed with endless determination.

Carefully, he pulled it towards himself, cradling it against his chest with all the love and affection he could never bring himself to bestow upon Loz. It was hot against his bared chest, and almost burned, after so long in the hot sun. He took a deep breath of the dusty air, and nearly choked, before wrapping the belt around his shoulder, strapping it across his chest, over his ruined jacket, and tying it tight. He took another deep breath at the feeling of it, snug against him, as if it were Loz was held in his arms.

He slowly stepped forward again, feeling exhaustion biting at his heels. The sand around him was changing color, and he guessed that however the real world appeared, night was approaching. He didn't bother glancing up at the sky-he had no reason to care about that. He walked forwards for a moment before leaning into the motion, breaking into a jog. He wasn't panicked. He wasn't afraid. He was angry. Someone had stolen his brother from him-the one thing he had just begun to understand.

And whoever they were, he was going to kill them.


	27. Chapter 27

When Loz next rose out of his bleary state to consciousness, he was alone once again. His mouth was unbound, but dry once more. His shoulders ached in a numb, relentless way, still forced into the painful position behind his back. He was lying on his side, and tried to lever himself up, but found it impossible. With his arms behind his back, and his legs shaking with weakness, he stood no chance against the sandy ground.

He shivered helplessly and curled his aching body in on itself. The sand beneath his cheek was warm, but the stagnant air around him was infused with a breathtaking chill. The wastelands around Midgar had been the same way-burning during the day, and frozen by evening. He remembered curling close to Kadaj on such evenings. Yazoo had stood separate from them, seeming as cold as the air, his frozen green eyes gazing out over the dark, empty world. Loz remembered waking to find Yazoo in the exact same place, an unmoving sentinel, as warm and forgiving as ice.

He wished now he'd stood up and joined him-kept him company on those cold nights, even if it was without touch. Instead he'd scowled at him. Bitterness had infused his very bones at the sight of his brother, so apparently unaffected by the world around him. As he lay curled helplessly in the warm sand, he wondered if Yazoo had simply been lost in Sephiroth's memories those nights. He'd seen enough of his brother now to know that it was partially true that Yazoo was simply colder than he himself was. However, he also knew a part of it was that his brother was always hurting-always lost. Perhaps if he'd had someone he could turn to, he could have gotten better.

Loz clenched his eyes shut, giving a helpless whimper at the thought. If Yazoo had been whole-had been more together-how different things might have been. He thought of Kadaj's helpless rages, and the way Yazoo had watched with empty eyes. He knew without a doubtt that Yazoo had changed since then. If it had been the Yazoo he now knew, those watchful eyes might have been cold, but they would not have been untouched. Perhaps if they had worked together, they could have saved their precious littl brother. But then, of course, what would they have done with an undamaged leader? Would they have still tried to find Jenova?

Even if they hadn't, he knew, they would never have had a life. Not a real one. He squinted his eyes open, staring dead ahead, feeling the child's body around him, and knowing he inhabited it only because there wasn't enough of him to fill up the massive form he'd inhabited while he was still alive. He guessed that was what had happened to Yazoo as well-the very thing Angeal had spoken of when they first arrived. It was why Yazoo had never really healed-there wasn't enough of a soul to fill up his body completely. And Loz missed him like a hole in his side.

Sand shifted nearby, and Loz suddenly became aware of what had woken him. Someone was rounding the cart, dragging something behind them. A low groaning sound, which Loz had initially mistaken for the wind, resolved as it grew closer, into a seemingly endless moan of pain. Loz clenched his eyes against it, feeling his gut twist in suspicion of whose voice it was, and refusing to worry, or care. Through the ugly, pervading scent of sand, he caught a whiff of blood. He was getting really sick of the way the iron tang of hung in the air after every injury. It made him sick to his stomach. Since the very first moment he'd found Yazoo, the endless litany of pain and blood, and death just never seemed to end.

As the sounds grew closer, Loz closed his eyes tightly, hoping the men would leave him in peace for once. He struggled to even out his breathing and feign sleep convincingly. His hands curled behind his back, into weary half-fists, too numb and blood-deprived to do any better than that, despite his tension. His body couldn't keep up with all the damage that had been done to it, and he was honestly thankful for that. He had the feeling that if his neck hadn't gone numb, it might have tipped him over the edge into honest, destructive shock. He was grateful his bottom had finally started to heal enough that it had shifted from agonizing to simply smarting.

He was distracted from his discomfort as the sand nearby shifted, something heavy thudding to the ground with a soft, breathy sound that he wasn't sure he didn't imagine. The scent of blood intensified, and Loz could hear the rushing breath of another human, but he refused to open his eyes and look, despite the curiosity burning in his mind.

"Kinda pathetic, isn't it?" an unfamiliar voice sighed. "The great General Sephiroth, lowered to groveling in the sand."

"Whatever," another voice grumbled. "Who cares so long as we've got him in contained?"

Loz heard feet shifting as the men moved a little in the unsteady ground, but they didn't move away. He gave a helpless shiver. He could feel how close Sephiroth's body had fallen to his. The long-haired man's breaths moved the loose dust near Loz's face. He swallowed hard, willing the men to walk back to their camp so he could open his eyes and look at Sephiroth.

"Kinda seems like overkill, don't you think?" the first voice said. "He hasn't so much as moved since we found 'em. What's he gunna do, beat us to death with his stump?"

"Yeah," the other man replied as Loz heard him strike a match. "He might do that."

"What, for real?" the first voice laughed. "Well, sure as hell wouldn't want that to happen!"

"You better shape up and stop dicking around, kid." The second man said, a whiff of tobacco smoke wafting through the dusty air with his words. "That lump of flesh is our ticket out of this hellhole and into the Gods-honest Promised Land."

Loz clenched his fists as tightly as he could, willing them to shut up. His exhaustion hadn't mitigated his temper, and these two assholes were pushing his patience. He was pissed at Sephiroth, but he wasn't pissed enough to wish their captors' tender mercies on him.

"What about the kid?" the first voice asked, and Loz felt the toe of a boot nudge him in the stomach as the words were spoken.

"Dunno what the plan for that is," the smoker rasped. "I'd be willing to bet we'll be unloading him with daddy there."

"Too bad," the younger man said.

Loz struggled not to whimper as he felt the man crouch by him. He kept breathing, evenly, fighting not to choke on sand and give the man an opening to take advantage of.

"You think they really need him in one piece?" the man asked, his voice far too close to Loz's ear. "I know we gotta give 'em enough of the General to recognize, but this little shit's part of him, right?"

"What's it to you?" the smoker asked with a dull sort of curiosity.

"The fucker killed my daughter." The young man replied at once. "She's not here, of course. She's wherever the normal kids go, and I know I can't take it out on the General, but this kid's a fragment of him. I thought I might get to have a little more fun with him, since we got to give him a good whippin' earlier."

"You sure he's not just a kid?" The smoker asked after a long moment.

"If he was, you think he'd be here?" the younger one sneered, his hand stroking through Loz's hair slowly and lightly. "He'd be with the children-with my little girl. They always get sent straight through."

Loz fought the tears threatening to fall down his cheeks, unable to keep his breath from hitching in fear. Beyond him, Sephiroth remained unmoving and inert, either unconscious or ignoring the conversation going on around him. Loz fought the urge to whimper as the fingers in his hair tightened, pulling his head back. He couldn't help but grimace in discomfort, but the man either assumed he was suffering asleep, or didn't care he was awake.

"Either way," the smoker rasped, "You're not doin' shit right now. You're on watch with Davis until daybreak."

"Yeah," The younger man muttered as he dropped Loz's head back to the ground. "I noticed."

Loz could have cried in relief as the man finally moved away from him. He let out a breathy whimper of a sound before catching himself, hoping desperately he he hadn't been heard.

"Pity about the pants, don't you think?" the young man said as he walked away. "I was enjoying the view."

"That cloth wasn't doing a damn thing," the smoker replied sharply. "And we're not doing this to gawk, kid."

Loz swallowed, and risked slanting his eyes open, glancing up into the dark evening at the two retreating figures. There were lamps hung around nearby, one of them dangling off the back of the cart and illuminating the area directly around him quite efficiently.

The golden light reflected dimly off of Sephiroth's sand-crusted hair, which spilled around his face, masking his expression. Loz glanced up again toward where the men had disappeared, ensuring he wasn't watched, before shifting just a little so he could look the man over. The source of the bloody scent became immediately apparent with a good look. Sephiroth's maimed arm, which had previously been left free, was now tightly bound against his other hand, before his stomach. Loz almost gagged when he saw the method of restraint.

One of the long, thick stakes intended to be driven into soft, sandy ground to hold down tents had been driven viciously through his wrist. The actual injury was hidden by the length of rope that twisted around the metal bar on either side of Sephiroth's wrist before tying around the wrist, binding it to his other hand. Loz could see dark blood dripping from between the twists of rope, dropping to bead in the sandy soil.

Loz swallowed hard, refusing to be nauseous for the man who had not lifted a finger on his remaining hand to help him when he'd been in trouble. He stared at the injury, and the darkening smears of blood crawling in slim twining threads down over the rough, thick rope. Under his watchful gaze, the dusty ivory hand bound to the ruined stump twitched, then moved slowly, one finger extending to Loz.

Loz glanced up at Sephiroth's face, but found his eyes still closed and his face lax. He glanced back down to the hand to find it pointing at him, trembling either with weakness or effort. Then the finger curled in as Sephiroth formed two shapes, both of them slow and distinctive. It took Loz only a moment to recognize their recently designed secret language. He frowned, forcing himself to concentrate, and finding it a little easier now that he had some liquid in him.

The point confused him for a moment. It was reminiscent of the symbol for 'D,' but not quite. And considering that the second two letters had definitely been 'O' and 'K,' Loz was uncertain what Sephiroth meant by "Dok." Then it suddenly dawned on him that pointing didn't have to be a letter at all.

"No," he whispered back to the man in a raspy, shaking voice. "I'm not okay."

Sephiroth remained unmoving after the words, but Loz was ignoring his face. Sephiroth had far to many masks for his expressions to mean much of anything. The hand was limp against the sand for a moment, as though it had never moved. It stirred again at last, and this time Loz was concentrating hard enough to catch what Sephiroth was spelling.

'I'm sorry,' the man scribed, the letters initially running together in Loz's mind before forming a coherent thought.

"Yeah right," muttered Loz, wincing as the words ripped at his throat. "Fat lot of good you were. You could have done something..."

"What," Sephiroth's hand spelled out slowly, the words taking an excruciatingly long time to shape letter by letter into the air, "could I do?"

"I dunno," Loz muttered. "Something. Anything woulda helped."

"I would have been in-" Sephiroth broke off after two letters, giving his hand a little, dismissive flick as he changed his mind. "hurt."

"Yeah?" Loz hissed. "Well I was hurt. And unlike some people, I didn't have a ride through the damn desert."

Sephiroth's hand remained still where it was bound. Loz waited for the man to respond with growing frustration. Glancing around himself, he found that if the men were guarding them, it was from far off. He wriggled in the sand, a little closer to Sephiroth and kicked him sharply in the shin.

"Meanie," he groused, overshadowing the soft sound of surprise that escaped Sephiroth. "You at least have an idea to get us out, right?"

Slowly, and with a strange aura of sadness about him, Sephiroth shook his head no, rubbing his pale cheek against the coarse sand with the motion. Loz could have screamed. If his hands hadn't been tied behind his back, he had no doubt he would have pummeled the older man out of frustration, but it simply wasn't an option. The kick had opened up a scab on his thigh, and it was leaking uncomfortably under his tight leather pants. The longer he lay there, breathing heavily and ineffectually out of pointless, helpless rage, the more he calmed down. When he finally caught his breath enough to speak again, he could think well enough to make his point.

"I stood up to Yazoo for you," he hissed accusingly.

Sephiroth slanted his eye open, the empty socket on the other side scooped out deeply enough that the depression was actually holding a little sand in it. The look he gave Loz was one of pure, unimpressed incomprehension.

"Don't you get it?" Loz hissed sharply. "You know what Yazoo's made of, right? It makes perfect sense with who he is. Think about it for a second-think of all the horrible things you've seen in your life."

He waited, watching Sephiroth's blank stare until he saw that gaze turn inwards, following his advice and thinking back on the horrors of his life. He watched the gaze narrow and flash in the dark evening around them, and smirked just a little.

"Yazoo," he whispered to the bound man, with a hint of pride coloring his voice, "is scary."

Despite his care with keeping a hand over the man's mouth, the dust-encrusted human still squealed like a stuck pig when Yazoo snapped his neck. The sound was swallowed quickly by the dunes around them, and Yazoo doubted very much he'd been heard by his allies, but it still set his teeth on edge and made his heart thunder in his chest. It didn't stop him from smiling, though. It was good to be the powerful one again.

The corpse fell like a stone to the cold sand, mouth gaping open, and his wide-eyes sightless. It was pathetic. Yazoo dispassionately dusted the sand off his ruined jacket, brushing at the grains sticking to his still slightly-sweaty chest. The night was as cold as they day had been hot, and he was glad he'd salvaged the coat that had been almost painful to wear during the day.

The man's body was making strange sounds, lying there in the sand. Little cracks and pops as the broken vertebra settled into place in the ruined dune-side. Yazoo considered the form as he tried to brush some of the sand out of his hair. It had been pathetically easy to kill him. All he'd had to do was burrow under the sands a little and wait, like a spider in a burrow.

"Now the question," he whispered as he stared down into the empty eyes of his victim, "Is how to keep you dead."

He stretched, arching his back and rolling his shoulders, fighting the stiffness that had infused his muscles after a while buried in sand. He let out a soft, quiet breath into the night, kneeling at the man's side, shoving his hands into the body's pockets without a care. He didn't like touching people, but a corpse wasn't a person anymore.

He pulled out a small pocked knife. The blade gleamed when he flicked it open. It was well cared for, and reflected the dim light that shone over the desert sands like a mirror. He slid his thumb at an angle over the blade, testing its sharpness without quite cutting himself. It was finely honed, far from a beautiful weapon, but the best Yazoo could do. After all, the man's gun would make far too much noise in the night.

The moment he'd touched the blade, Yazoo had known exactly what he could do to slow the recovery down. He looked slowly up at the man's face. Death was an ugly thing, as he well knew. This was not the first person he'd killed, after all. The glazed eyes were crusty, glinting less and less as more sand blew over the dry orbs. His broken neck jutted out at an ugly, unnatural angle. He was already beginning to stink even in the cool night, thanks to the refuse released by his death. Yazoo guessed he would have to take a few extra moments to bury his victim, to avoid him being found by his stench. If only he could figure out how to keep him dead long enough.

He glanced down at the knife in his hand and a slow, wicked smile crossed his lips. It was hard to do anything chase-related if one didn't have feet-or better yet legs. The pocket-sized blade was far from optimal, but Yazoo didn't mind getting a little dirty. After all, the first torture he'd ever performed had been with nothing but his own gun, and the weapons of the captured Turks. Butchering someone with a pocket knife, while messier, would not require nearly that much finesse.

Yazoo stabbed deep into the man's thigh where there would be joint in the skeleton. He doubted the stout, thin knife would cut through bone, no matter how strong he was, or how well-honed it might be. He'd never cut so deep into a body before, and he was startled by the lack of blood. It oozed from the wound, when pressed, but the lack of a heartbeat had all but frozen the liquid in place. With a smirk, he started sawing through meat. As he cut, he continually glanced around, waiting for someone to notice the wet sucking noises the blade made as it parted flesh.

No one did. He remained undisturbed as he painstakingly worked his way through muscle after muscle, his left hand holding the wound apart while his right sliced through one cord of skin or tendon away. All the while, he waited for a change. When that change came, it was quite suddenly.

Without warning, blood suddenly spurted up from the severed artery that Yazoo had cut through some time ago, and he gasped as it struck him in the face, inadvertently sucking some of the iron-tinted liquid into his mouth. He heard his victim draw a sharp breath, and shifted from where he knelt at once, anticipating the scream that would follow. He lifted a leg, glad for his inborn flexibility, and stepped down on the man's throat, squelching the shriek of pain before it had started, and turning it into no more than a gurgle. With a snarl, he ground the heel of his boot down into the failing windpipe, ignoring the way his victim's arms and one working leg thrashed, the other already detached enough that it only gave forlorn twitches.

Slowly, the man's pathetic struggles ceased as he died the same way Loz had such a little while ago. Yazoo felt no sympathy, despite having mourned the pain his brother experienced during his passing. This creature was not his brother-had stolen his family away from him-and there was no forgiving that in Yazoo's mind. Once the body was once more cooling, and the blood had stopped spurting from the open wound in his leg, Yazoo shifted with a snarl. Obviously, he had more immediate concerns than his prey walking.

With a grim dedication, he slit the monster's already crushed throat. Firmly, he grasped his victim's hair, tilting the dead-man's head back to open the wound further, and started sawing through blood-filled muscles, arteries, and veins ignoring the gore that clung to his hand as he ripped apart the delicate inner workings of the throat.

Finally, his knife struck bone. The moment it did, the world seemed to shift on its axis. Beneath him, the body he'd been brutalizing broke, all of a sudden, like shattering glass. Yazoo stared down at the fractured form for a moment, before gasping hollowly. A scream echoed through him, bypassing his ears to strike his very core, as the shattered body exploded into light, streaming into the evening sky. Yazoo knelt in place, shuddering from the backlash, as the green flecks streamed with helpless desperation into the sky. They got not ten feet away from him before flickering out, only a single one staggering and swaying its way through the air, out of sight into the sands.

For a long moment, Yazoo sat unmoving, staring down at the pocket knife in his hand. Then a slow smile curved over his lips. If it were honestly possible to destroy a soul, it would solve a great many of his problems. About five of them, if he'd counted the footprints he was following correctly.


	28. Chapter 28

Kadaj stared up at the blue sky, feeling the warmth of the meadow around him. He remembered having enjoyed it-remembered it feeling welcome and comforting. Now he felt like he might suffocate in the warm, flower-scented air. He needed somewhere cool to hide. He longed for the embrace of cold arms, and the chill that seeped into his flesh at their touch. Unfortunately, Aerith had declared that he needed a break, and insisted he not 'fight' Jenova today.

Of course, Kadaj couldn't tell her he wanted to go into the strange between-world where he and Mother met. That would ruin the illusion he needed to instill in her. The appearance of reluctance was of the utmost importance to his mother's plan. She needed Aerith to believe he was only an overworked child.

Footsteps approaching from behind him drew Kadaj out of his quiet longing. He refused to allow himself to turn around as he recognized the even pace of Zack's tred. He walked with a warrior's determined stride, entirely different from Aerith's light-footed assurance. Kadaj no longer bothered to fight back the hatred the Soldier's presence brought forth in him. His mother did not require him to like the dark-haired traitor. He only had to pretend a little while longer.

"Hey Kadaj," Zack greeted with a forced carefree edge to his voice. "You're lookin' particularly distant today."

Kadaj tried not to let his hackles visibly rise too much. He despised when Zack talked like that-when he tried to sound relaxed and buddy-buddy. He always ended up sounding to Kadaj either as though he were trying to garner sympathy, or like he was concealing a threat. Either way, it was far from putting him at ease. He narrowed his eyes, allowing himself to scowl darkly while Zack still stood behind him, out of sight.

"I'm just thinking," he said, keeping his voice as blank as he could, though a very slight quaver of tension and anticipation carried through in his tone

"Yeah?" Zack asked, stepping up beside him, forcing Kadaj to quickly school his features blank. "What about?"

Kadaj cast around for an answer that wouldn't scream 'lie' to the personable warrior, swallowing dryly. The game of keep away had been far harder to play than he would have liked. The more his mother met with him, the harder it was being away from her. Idiots like Zack Fair only made his task unbearable. He was so distracted yearning for her presence day and night that he felt as though it was making him quite stupid.

"My brothers," he answered finally, because that much was true. Mother had promised him some brothers, after all. "I'm looking forward to meeting them."

"Don't you mean seeing them?" Zack asked with a small smile, turning sparkling eyes towards him. "Not like you haven't met before"

Kadaj hesitated. Was there harm in telling the truth to the man? Perhaps the story would stir some of Zack's much-despised pity for him. Kadaj hated watching those lavender eyes soften whenever Zack saw him hurt, or pathetic. It made him sick to his stomach to be pitied by someone he reviled. But at the moment, it would serve him well. The more Zack pitied him, the less wary he would be.

"We haven't really," Kadaj said after a long moment, staring out away from Zack, into the endless, monotonous field of flowers. "Not the way you mean it."

Zack's eyes flickered over to him, and he shifted his stance to face him fully. Kadaj refused the invitation to meet his eyes, remaining aloof as he stared out into the distance. He might need Zack's eyes to take on that gentle, tragic cast, but he didn't want to watch.

"We were only alive for a couple of weeks. My brothers," He paused, considering his next words. "They were useful, but they were just the tools Mother gave me to get to her."

He noticed a shift in Zack, and risked a glance, only to see disapproval forming in his lavender gaze. He mentally scrambled to collect something sad out of the circumstances, and settled first for giving a soft, forlorn sigh while he gathered his thoughts. He forced his eyes back to the horizon.

"I wish... I wish I had listened to them. I was," he raised a slim hand to his forehead, rubbing at an invisible headache, "blind to them, because she was always in my head. If I had gotten to know them-spent some time with them-maybe-"

He trailed off, silently urging Zack to take the bait. When a wide, warm hand lay itself lightly over his slim shoulder, he almost smiled. Zack was an easy one. He'd been manipulated and taken advantage of by the whole world while he was alive. So long as Kadaj kept reminding him that he'd been 'possessed' by Mother, he was easy to control.

"You'll get a chance soon," Zack said in a voice halfway between encouraging and heart-broken. "I know both of them really want to see you again. They miss you."

He squeezed Kadaj's shoulder as he spoke. Kadaj wanted to spit in annoyance. Mother had told him all about the 'brothers' Zack was waxing poetical over. She'd told him how they'd turned on her, like feral animals, and set Sephiroth free from her prison. He almost smiled again at the thought of that, his shifts in mood quick enough to confuse even him. His just, beloved mother had been so angry with Sephiroth for taking him over that she'd imprisoned him beneath the mansion and stolen his form. It was the purest declaration of her love yet. Even though his brothers had ruined it.

He only realized that his eyes had softened, and his lips curled up at the corner when Zack stepped around to face him, smiling himself in easy empathy.

"Would you look at that?" The raven haired man laughed lightly. "You can smile."

Kadaj bore the hand that ruffled his hair for a moment before ducking out from under it, letting his face fall back under its wary, uncertain mask. Soon, that man would never touch him again. Soon, he would have newer, better brothers, like Mother promised. But even better than that, soon he would be at his mother's left-hand side as she sat atop her throne-her best, loyalest child. This time, he would not fail her.

Zack's smile took on a sad cast as he pulled away, but he let him go. Kadaj had managed to convince him some time ago that contact frightened and unnerved him. He hadn't mentioned that he never minded when it was Mother's touch, or even that he'd let the slim, delicate brother he'd once lived with pet and coddle him in her place. After all, he'd looked the most like her. He'd been a suitable stand-in for a time.

The awkward moment was interrupted by a sharp cry of surprise and pain from across the meadow. Kadaj turned at the same time as Zack, both reaching instinctively for their weapons, but Aerith was alone, where she had been for some time, kneeling by the Goddess's shrine. However, the lack of the enemy did not change the horrified look on her face, or the sickly pale color of her skin.

"Aer?" Zack called, running over to her from Kadaj's side, releasing his grip on Buster's hilt as he went over to his precious flower-girl.

Kadaj started forward, feeling his brows twist in worry, before pausing, second-thinking the motion. What did he care if the Goddess's servant was hurt? The thought didn't calm his racing heart. He hovered there with one hand on Souba's hilt as he wavered. Finally he broke out of his stunned stillness to run over to the pair, reminding himself he was supposed to be pretending to like them both. Surely, the sick feeling in his stomach was from being so close to them, and not fear.

He forced the confused musings aside, dropping to a knee beside Zack, not touching Aerith. He reminded himself that he ought to look worried, and felt his heart tighten as he realized he didn't need to feign the expression. It was already there.

"Aerith?" Zack called as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, bracing her where she sat with a few flowers crushed under her slim form. "What happened?"

"Someone," Aerith whispered reedily, "Someone tried to-To destroy a soul!" Her eyes flickered as she spoke, tracing back and forth in panic, as though reading the air before her. "It's-It's fading! I have to go, Zack!"

"Then go, babe," Zack urged her softly. "Kadaj can stay with me."

"Zack, you don't understand," Aerith whispered, turning worried eyes to her precious Soldier.

Kadaj saw it in her eyes then. He saw the fear, not for him, or his stability, but for Zack. In that moment, he realized that she knew. It was impossible-he hadn't let a single clue slip-and yet she knew, if not specifically, then too much. He stepped in quickly, trying to salvage everything.

"I'll be good, Mother," he said urgently, putting on a frightened expression.

Aerith's eyes turned to him, worried, and suspicious. Kadaj felt a stirring in the back of his mind, and knew the time was almost here. He fought to keep the anticipation out of his eyes as Aerith's too-bright emerald gaze fixed on him.

"Kadaj," She said finally, lifting her hands to cup his cheeks gently, "I can't expect you to grow if I never trust you. I beg of you, don't prove me wrong. Don't disappoint me. I l-"

Before Aerith could finish speaking, she vanished, like she was never there. It was not the first time she had been whisked away by the Goddess while Kadaj had been there. He had seen it before, but it always made him queasy to be so close to her. It was like some kind of holy backlash had whipped through him. He held perfectly still, the phantom feeling of her hands still resting on his cheeks, before carefully sitting back, staring at the crushed flowers as Zack slowly lowered his arm from around the empty air she had once inhabited.

"Kadaj?" Zack asked after a quiet moment. "What was that about?"

"I don't know," Kadaj lied, trying not to let his voice shake as much as it wanted to. Mother stirred more urgently in the back of his mind. "Maybe the Goddess has been trying to convince her to get rid of me again."

"The Goddess doesn't want to get rid of you, Kadaj," Zack insisted softly. "You are our only hope against Jenova's taint."

"You mean your only weapon against it." Kadaj said softly.

He watched with distant eyes as Zack's mouth worked in alarm at that, struggling for something to say. Inside Kadaj, something was shifting. Worry for Aerith rose, briefly, and he was unable to quell it. Was she safe, going to salvage a broken soul like that, or would she fall victim to the same fate? He felt Mother rise at the thought, coldness suffusing his limbs, and for just a moment, he thought he would cry. Aerith would be so disappointed in him.

But then, she was a kidnapper-she had stolen Kadaj away from his mother's comforting embrace. For just the briefest of moments, Kadaj suffered from the terrifying feeling that it wasn't him thinking that at all. The the feeling vanished, and he looked up at Zack slowly.

"That is what I am, isn't it, Zack," he whispered, "To you. To the Goddess. To Aerith. I'm a weapon to you."

"No," Zack argued, worry twisting his brow. "Not at all, Kadaj. You're just a kid."

"Really?" Kadaj asked, his voice filled with venom. "Do you always send children to do your dirty work?"

Zack's eyes narrowed, and Kadaj felt his suspicion redouble. He was confused, and lost by Kadaj's words. This was his chance-his one chance. If he missed it, he'd be ripped apart, or imprisoned forever. He didn't give Zack another moment to think, but dropped his hand the last inch to Souba and drew her sharply and quickly. The single-draw kill was a movement Sephiroth had learned and perfected years ago, but never used. His sword didn't have a sheath after all.

Blood spattered Kadaj, and violet eyes softened as they stared at him, but not from pity this time. Death made Zack's final expression of surprise and horror soften to a slack, pathetic gape. Twin slices ran across his chest, cutting deep, carving a gory path from his torso to his shoulder. His hand dropped from where it had been reaching for Buster's hilt, to hang limply at his side for a moment before he toppled, eyes staring sightlessly ahead.

Kadaj stood, Souba dripping blood onto the flowers as he held it, staining white petals red. For the first time in a long while, he felt complete. He licked Zack's blood of his lips, smiling to himself at the taste. With a vicious flick of his blade, he decapitated his victim's body, and turned to walk away, not waiting to see his form explode into green and vanish.

Mother opened the way for him, and he walked into the darkness without question, smiling as it withered the flowers of Aerith's paradise.


	29. Chapter 29

"Yazoo is scary."

Loz's smug declaration lingered in the chilly desert air around the two prisoners. Sephiroth's gaze had turned away after he spoke, staring towards the sky as he contemplated. Loz had wanted to give him time to think, and so had fallen silent as well. In the quiet and calm night, which had been so recently filled with horrors, he was finally forced to confront a truth he didn't want to. Despite his words to Sephiroth, he was well aware of a problem looming in their one hope of escape. If Yazoo did come for them, Loz wasn't sure his big brother would be of any use to them. After all, powerful as Yazoo had been in life, since their death he'd been nothing but a punching bag.

A shiver worked its way through Loz, and he burrowed a little deeper into the sand, trying not to let his teeth chatter together. The night, which had started out cool, was now much closer to the level of freezing. He could no longer feel his hands at all, and hoped that they weren't going to fall off. He gave a little, helpless tremble, and winced as the chains connected to his collar jangled. Fortunately, so long as he didn't move too much, the part of the metal ring in contact with his neck retained some of his body heat.

Still uncomfortable, he shifted once more, burrowing as deep as he could into the cooling sands, and the chilled metal burned with cold against his skin. A soft gasp escaped him at the sudden chill. It was inescapable, and pervasive. His clothes, which had burned so much during the day, were all that stood between him and freezing to death now. He felt a brief, inescapable rush of fear as he thought of Sephiroth's ineffectual cloth covering before forcing himself to relax again. They'd put clothes on at least his lower half. And Sephiroth was much bigger than him. Surely the broken man had to be warmer than Loz himself.

Since the two guards had returned Sephiroth, the camp had gone silent. Loz's hearing wasn't nearly sharp enough to pick up on any sounds left, but he would have bet most of them were snoring. Every once in a while, he'd hear a weird, inhuman cry, that he supposed must have come from the Chocobo, but they quickly trailed off into silence as well.

He stared up at the sky, getting caught up in the strange, perfect midnight blue above him. More and more dots that he supposed were stars were appearing in the deep purple sky the longer he stared away from the bright lanterns they had hung on each side of the wagon. A thought struck him as he stared up at the stars-one he couldn't escape from once it was there. His lips moved to form it before he could stop himself.

"I wish Zack were here," he whispered into the still night, as though saying the words might bring his dark-haired friend.

Beside him, Sephiroth flinched at the words, a sharp jerk that jostled his entire body. Surprised, Loz turned his gaze to him, and saw an expression of pain on the man's normally blank face before it faded into his usual, impassive stare. Loz met his green, slit-pupiled gaze with his own. He wondered how many times this Sephiroth had called out for Zack before Jenova had taken his tongue for herself. Though Loz would have assumed Sephiroth had restrained the urge, and never gotten the chance to call out for the man who had stayed with him the longest of anyone. Sephiroth was not the type to request help.

Loz swallowed in the face of Sephiroth's unchanging stare, wondering if he was in trouble for the softly spoken wish. After all, unlike himself, Sephiroth actually knew Zack. He didn't just remember him vicariously.

"Um," he whispered softly into the stretching silence, "sorry. I didn't mean-"

Sephiroth's slim hand raised slightly off the ground, still bound to the stump of his left arm, stopping the flow of his words. Sephiroth's face remained unchanged as his fingers once again slipped into motion, shaking. Loz watched them intently, noticing the sand that stuck to every inch of his fingers. The desert had pervaded every inch of flesh, and cloth, and body that it was presented with. Sephiroth's chest glittered a little in the light from the lanterns, the sand stuck to his skin as reflective as that on the ground. Then Loz's mind caught up to what he'd just seen Sephiroth spell.

'Turn around.'

"Why?" Loz asked with growing suspicion. "What're you gunna do?"

With a blank look, Sephiroth extended a finger, twirling it three times in a sign that repeated his meaning without necessitating he spell once again.

Loz hesitated, uncertain, then slowly, painstakingly, wiggled, kicking his legs out to try and turn himself over. He held his breath as he had to press his face into the sand to turn, but still managed to get sand up his nose. He tried to splutter and cough as quietly as possible, not wanting to draw attention to them. He spat out sand, wishing he had some water to rinse his mouth out with, though he would have rather drunken it. He was still parched, even now that he was frozen rather than burning up.

For a moment, nothing more happened as he lay with his back to Sephiroth. Then the sand shifted behind him, and pain flared in his numb wrists. He gasped hollowly as pain like fire streaked up his arms to his aching shoulders. Quite suddenly, he could feel every inch of cracked, bleeding, chaffed, burned skin on his wrists and hands. Sephiroth's touch had ended the blessed numbness.

"Wait, please," Loz whispered painfully, struggling to shift away from Sephiroth.

The hand refused to release him, and Loz gave a soft, desperate whimper. What would Sephiroth do to him now that he was at his mercy? Loz shuddered, wondering if the fact that he was born from Sephiroth would make it possible for the man to steal one of his hands for his own. The thought make him stick to his stomach.

All of a sudden, he fell silent and still as his mind caught up to reality. Sephiroth was paying no attention to his hands. What Loz felt-what was hurting him-was the man struggling against the cruel rope that bound his wrists together. The sickness that had settled into the pit of his stomach suddenly vanished, replaced with a fluttering excitement in his chest. His lips parted slightly, giving a soft, breathy gasp as he realized he was getting his wish. Sephiroth was helping him escape.

As he lay as still as possible on his side, trying not to let his hands jerk away from Sephiroth when the man hurt him fighting against the rope, his eyes slide up to the sky. Overhead, three small green lights, like fireflies, swirled overhead unsteadily.

Once the third guard was dead, Yazoo allowed himself a moment to breathe. The first had been the most difficult, as he'd tried to find his way around butchering the human form swiftly and neatly. But since his first murder, things had gone far more smoothly. The second man had never seen the knife that slashed his throat, much less Yazoo. He'd been playing solitaire, muttering to himself as he flipped cards over and stacked them. The snarl of frustration he'd worn stayed on his face until Yazoo finally managed to cut deep enough to destroy him

The third man had been he only one to come close to putting up a fight. Yazoo had almost been caught as the man alertly paced his assigned route. The remnant hadn't had time to bury himself yet. But he'd had plenty of time to get back to a killer's mentality, and alertness would not be enough to deter him. In the end, even that man had had to let his guard down. Even if it was only to tie his bootlace. It had been more than enough of an opening for Yazoo to take.

He sat where the last body had fallen, staring blankly up at the sky. His legs and arms were weak with exertion. The bodies of the Lifestream were as resistant to being destroyed as any real one, and neither he nor his weapon were as strong as he remembered. As he sat still, the cold slowly sank into his over-heated skin, past the adrenaline fueled heat he'd been experiencing for the past while. He didn't bother curling up, or rubbing his arms. He didn't respond to the cold in any way. He only stared up at the sky he couldn't see. He liked that blankness above him. Liked how peaceful and deserted it looked.

Briefly, his heart sped up with adrenaline, the image of a young silver-haired child appearing in his head, but he shrugged it off. Whoever the boy was, he'd kill him when he wasn't busy. He had time.

As he stared up at the sky, he never noticed the visible world slowly shrinking around him. He'd stopped noticing anything.

The desert knew better than to chill Aerith's skin. She gave the sands a smile as she walked into its folds, despite her unease. She knew it was dangerous to leave Zack with Kadaj. She'd felt the boy's faith shaking for some time now. She needed to be with him-to help him through what was plaguing him. But she had to take the chance.

She gave a soft gasp as the Lifestream tugged at her insistently, like an ocean's riptide. She had a task here, and worrying about the little sliver of a boy was not part of it. She took a deep breath, connecting more firmly to her task as the Lifestream's caretaker. She felt the calm flow through her-the same kind she'd always felt from the flowers in her church. She lifted her arms to the sky, with a gentle smile gracing her lips, and called out, without a word, to the skies.

The first fragment of a soul came to her slowly, like a wounded animal, staggering through the air. The moment it was close enough, she cupped her hands under it, supporting it. Aerith pulled the fragment close, and blew a soft breath on it, like someone trying to ignite a dying coal in a fire. The green speck brightened at the kind touch, as Aerith spread her warmth around it.

"Poor thing," She whispered to the spark. "Someone's done a number on you. Maybe too much of one."

She gave the little spark a sad smile, her eyes gentle as she watched it. It settled slowly, wearily in her hands, as inhuman as any firefly, and yet utterly a man. She could hear it screaming and crying, in her head. It sounded like a child, though she knew quite well the moment she touched the light it had been a man before it was killed. That could only mean trouble, if something had destroyed the soul so completely that only the childhood part of it remained.

Aerith's focus was quite suddenly broken by movement in the stars above her. She lifted wide, startled eyes, and gave a sharp gasp. Two more dimming lights swayed down from above to drop, exhausted into her hands.

"Three of you," she whispered, her brows twisting in horror. "Oh Goddess..."

The screams of the broken souls shot through her head, each voice raised in agony and sorrow. Aerith grimaced, struggling to find her calm again, and took a shaking breath, blowing the strength of the Lifestream into them, to hold them together a little longer. The screams quieted, but Aerith knew it wouldn't be for long. She needed to get them to the Goddess, either to repair, or to reincarnate. She couldn't allow them to be completely destroyed, after all. But before that task, something had to be dealt with. After all, something in the desert she stood in had killed three souls.

She shuddered at the very thought. That was the sort of act that honestly doomed a creature in this world. The souls in her hands felt heavy, despite having no real weight to them. They would never become exactly who they were again.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to them. "I'm so so sorry. Hold on a little longer."

She turned her face back into the dunes, cupping her hands around the souls and holding them close to her. She felt them stir uneasily as she stepped out into the sand, moving towards the unrest that seemed to fill the universe around her. It was easy to see where the murderer was. The Lifestream twisted around them, as though trying to keep as far away as possible from itself.

As she walked, Aerith felt a sudden and inexplicable longing for her staff. She hadn't used a weapon since the moment she'd bled to death on the floor of the Ancient city. She shuddered once more at the memory of Cloud's shocked, frightened face staring down at her. She'd watched his expression morph, his too-young face twisted in a horrified mixture of already crushing guilt, and a trauma he would never quite escape. The next thing she'd seen after his horrified look was a familiar tanned hand reaching down for her, and a puppy-like smile she hadn't seen in far, far too long.

"Zack," she sighed softly, letting a soft smile cross her face. "I worry too much. It'll be fine. We'll make it work."

She looked down at the little sparks of soul in her hands, letting her faith in her constant companion strengthen them even as it renewed her. Zack was utterly worthy of her faith. He'd never let her down-only once, and it hadn't been his fault. She'd known that even at the time. That's why she'd written him all those letters. Those letters which he would never read, which Tseng still had hidden away in a drawer in his lonely office.

She drew herself back to the present, pushing away her thoughts of the living world. Things there were far closer to perfect than they had been in some time. She needed to worry about her Goddess's domain, which was still under constant threat. Cloud had the living world well in hand.

She rounded a corner and froze, staring. The bubble of security she'd felt thinking of Zack and Cloud, her brave, sweet boys, burst in an instant. Bloody and filthy, Yazoo sat in the sand, his eyes as blank as a doll's. He was staring up at the sky, his lips parted in an empty gape, showing the faintest gleam of sharp white teeth behind them. Splatters of blood covered his face in ugly spots and blotches. His jacket hung open over his slender shoulders, displaying his still scared misshapen ribs and chest.

"You," Aerith whispered, horrified, as the souls in her hand cowered and trembled against her palm. "You did this."

Yazoo looked up slowly. His gaze was bleary and uninterested like a drowsy, sated wildcat. He stared at her without recognition for a long moment before his pupils narrowed abruptly, which served to make his eyes seem that much greener. Despite herself, Aerith drew back a little. She was far more powerful than the damaged remnant in this realm, and yet something about him filled her with unease.

"Kadaj," the boy rasped, the blood on his lips flaking off as he spoke.

"What?" Aerith asked, glancing behind herself to ensure her charge hadn't followed her into the desert somehow.

"You stole," Yazoo rasped, standing up ponderously as he spoke, "Kadaj."

Aerith gave a shudder. This was not how it was supposed to go. She'd had a plan. All Yazoo had needed to do was protect Loz-just keep that one boy safe long enough for the Goddess to see the good in them. The souls pressed into her hands shuddered as Yazoo took a step forward, and she knew she had misjudged. She had misjudged all of them. She'd seen the good in all three, but she should have listened to Zack's fears and concerns. You couldn't just put people like them into desperate positions and expect them to succeed. She saw that now, as Yazoo cracked his neck and lifted a broken, blunted knife. And she knew that it was too late for them.

"I'm sorry," She whispered to the boy. "I always intended to give him back. But I can't anymore. Not after what you've done. Why would you do this? What did these people do to you?"

Yazoo paused, tilting his head slowly as she spoke, like an uncomprehending beast. As her words sunk in, he straightened a little. Even as she watched some humanity seemed to strike his eyes. He lifted from his aggressive crouch, and his eyes flickered away from her for a moment. His brow knitted slightly, as though he were trying to remember something.

"They stole-" He whispered, as though trying to put the thought together in his mind as he spoke.

Aerith watched him struggle with that for some time, until the blank look started to re-assert itself on the boy's face. He sank down into a half-crouch again, lowering the knife. He looked more lost than even Cloud had when Aerith had last pulled him towards her realm as he traveled to the Forgotten City. She swallowed hard, silently begging the patience of his victims. She risked one more question.

"Where is Loz?"

Yazoo lifted his eyes to her slowly after she spoke. As he did so, his eyes brightened. Lucidity touched them once again. His lips parted slightly, vulnerably, before he closed his mouth. He straightened completely, staring at her in shock for a long moment before turning to the sands, blinking towards the light.

"They stole Loz," He said grimly, his voice dark. "I found his blood on their trail. I heard him crying. They stole him from me, and they hurt him." He turned back to her with a vicious curl to his lips, and narrowed eyes. "They deserved to die."

Aerith shuddered as she saw the absolute conviction in Yazoo's eyes. She hadn't misjudged him after all, it seemed. He'd protected his brother the only way that he knew to- the only way he could. The people Aerith had misjudged were the others—the 'normal' humans. She knew this realm wasn't as peaceful as it once was, but she'd fixated on the scourge that was Jenvoa. She had never thought to worry about the other souls. She looked down at her hand briefly, at the three points of light, before her chest tightened with realization.

He'd killed these three men, violently and thoroughly, for stealing Loz away and harming him. Though she hadn't harmed him herself, she had also taken one of Yazoo's brothers from him. And though she' d never meant for it, under her protection Kadaj had unmistakably been hurt by Jenova. It was clear from the look in the young remnant's eyes when she left.

She lifted her head slowly, taking a deep breath as she watched Yazoo waver where he stood, considering. After only a moment more, he raised the knife once again and his green eyes cold and hard. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but it was hard. She was all but a demi-god in the Lifestream, but she was unarmed. That she had to protect the souls under her keeping didn't help matters. If Yazoo decided to attack, she could quickly run into a great deal of trouble.

"You don't have to do this," she whispered, hoping the feral clone was still capable of being reasoned with. "Loz is still alive. If you attack me, you won't be able to save him. It will be the end of you."

Yazoo snarled viciously at her words, but he didn't move. He hovered there, frozen, and Aerith could feel his indecision in the air. Before him was the woman who'd stolen his life away, though she'd done it only to help. Somewhere deeper in the desert, though, his little brother was waiting, possibly still in danger. Silently, closing her eyes as she cupped her hands around the fractured, broken souls, she prayed for him to chose the path that might still lead him to redemption.

When she finally opened her eyes again after minutes of waiting, Yazoo was gone. His footprints led away, towards the light of the camp that only barely tinged the air. The bloody knife glittered up at her from the ground, cast aside like so much garbage. She took a careful step back as she glanced around warily, not entirely assured this wasn't a trick. The boy was nowhere to be seen. Sand shifted in the still night as an unseen form slid down the side of a dune, heading away from her towards the camp. Aerith closed her eyes tightly, letting out a shaking breath and holding the little shattered souls to her chest.

She opened the path back to her realm, feeling the relief at her escape straight down to her bones. She was fully aware now of exactly how dangerous the young man she'd just encountered was, and she didn't dare wait too long where he could still find her before she had a chance to reunite their strange little family. It was far safer in her home, where the souls could rest in the fresh air and flowers until the goddess could deal with them.

With the first step she took back inside her meadow, Aerith stopped breathing. She felt her eyes widen as though from a great distance-felt a chill in the air that made her sick. The meadow reeked of rotten flowers, and the ground had turned black where once there had been beauty and green.

In the middle of it, Zack's head stared blankly out at the world with empty, glazed eyes, his mouth open in an endless, voiceless scream. Nothing but a mess of blood connected his neck to his body. She ran, as though her speed now could save her lover, and where she stepped the dark sludge that had been her garden tugged downwards on her shoes, as though to drag her down. The dark clouds overhead billowed and crackled with thunder.

Aerith fell to her knees by Zack, dropping the souls to her lap, ignoring their terrified screams to cup her lover's cheeks, staring down at his horrified, dead face. Under her touch, his skin gave a little, and tremors of green ran along his skin. His soul, strong though it was, was starting to break.

Kadaj was nowhere to be seen.


	30. Chapter 30

Loz had expected to be able to spring into action once his hands were free. He'd been planning on hunting down a rock or something to break the chain off his neck. Though, realistically, he figured it would be a lot easier to break the wooden wagon itself and deal with the chain later. Not to mention how difficult finding a rock would be in the barren sandy desert. But regardless of the method, he'd expected to be able to free himself.

The reality of it was a painful let-down. When Sephiroth finally managed to fumble the tight knot free with a great deal of effort and probably no small amount of pain on his part, Loz wasn't even able to move his fingers. He tried to shift his arms from behind his back, but his aching shoulders had grown accustomed to their captivity and screamed in painful defiance at the sudden move. Loz stifled a whimper, and fell still, having failed to move more than an inch.

His wrists were overcome with the horrible feeling of pins and needles, pricking him from the inside as his circulation finally returned. The feeling spread all through his hands, leaving them twitching horribly with an entirely new torment. Bitterly, he thought it was no wonder being saved hurt too in this miserable place.

Despite his discomfort, and the unwillingness of his hands to cooperate, Loz started wiggling again only moments after his uncomfortable discovery. He turned over to look at Sephiroth, flicking his gaze up and down his companion. The man was shivering, his eye averted. The hand bound in front of him was caked in blood from his wounded wrist. The motion of untying Loz appeared to have loosened Sephiroth's bonds, but at the cost of wriggling the metal spike through his arm, aggravating and widening the wound.

"Thank you," Loz whispered after a moment, his voice dry, and his words inadequate for his gratitude.

Sephiroth didn't respond. He just stared upwards, at the sky, his hair tangled and messy in the sands around him, and the pair of plain canvas pants looking strange on a form built for leather. Loz licked his lips, wincing at the taste of sand on them, trying to open and close his hands behind his back to restore their circulation. It was difficult to tell whether it was working. Between the fierce and long-lasting restraints and the frozen air, the movements he did coax from them felt weird and disjointed.

'Comfortable' was not a word he would have picked at that moment. His side felt like it might be bleeding again where the bullet grazed him, and his backside was still definitely unhealed. To top it off, his shoulders ached, his hands tingled, and his throat felt dryer than the desert itself. His concept of pain had been rather impressively altered over the last day. And yet, it could have been worse. It could have been so much worse. He could have been alone.

Wordlessly, Loz wriggled forward and pressed against Sephiroth, nuzzling his shoulder lightly. It wasn't exactly a hug, because neither of them had access to their arms at the moment, but it was as close as Loz could get. The stiffness of Sephiroth's bound form wordlessly communicated how entirely uncomfortable he was with the affectionate and familiar touch, but Loz didn't let that stop him.

"Soon as I can use my hands, I'll untie you too," Loz promised softly. "Then I'll get this neck thing off, and we'll get out of here."

There was no reply of course. Sephiroth remained as still and silent as the grave, but his ribs moved gently in and out as he breathed. Loz didn't back down from the contact, partially because it was the only warmth he'd felt all night. His legs and behind stung horribly, and he was willing to guess that sand had made its way inside his pants, into the wounds inflicted by the beating of the day before. A little sniffle escaped him at the memory, and he burrowed a little closer to Sephiroth.

"See?" A rough voice behind him spoke. "I told ya I heard 'em shiftin' around."

Sephiroth went rigid and stiff, the motion of his breath stalling under Loz's cheek. Loz closed his eyes tightly, trying to force his mind away from the reality that they had been found before he'd had a chance to free himself fully. He silently pleaded with their captors not to notice his unbound hands, but he knew it was probably in vain. Their short lived escape attempt was over, all because he'd been too weak to move. He heard the clink of metal on metal just a moment before he was dragged away from Sephiroth by the collar around his neck. He kicked out, his hands moving jerkily and automatically, the pain in them forgotten as he scrambled against the unforgiving metal choking him in a rather mindless panic.

A steel-toed boot collided with his temple, halting his struggles, and he was dropped into the sand. His vision blurred, turning the people above him into indistinguishable figures. He could tell neither of them was the huge man who'd given him water. One of them threw the chain he was holding to the ground, dropping to one knee directly on top of the Loz's chest, driving the air out of him.

Loz barely had time to raise his hands to try and defend against the punch aimed for his head. It glanced off his forearm, but still connected with his jaw, sending a jolt of pain straight into his skull. He scrambled to curl up, trying to defend his face and head from any further punishment. It was less than effective. Another blow made his ears ring so loudly he could only faintly hear the laughter of the men striking him. He tried to force his attention off the cruel sound to focus on guarding himself. Before he could finish gathering his wits, the sound of laughter stopped quite suddenly.

"Oh shit," He heard one man mutter, before suddenly there was less weight on him, and he could breathe again.

He squeezed his eyes open, feeling one of them refuse to open fully, already partially swollen shut. For a moment all he saw was a tall silver-haired figure, and his fuzzy brain thought it must have been his brother, at last. Then he recognized the bloody hand bound in front of the figure and the hair falling in a viscerally familiar silver cascade down to the man's knees.

"Sephiroth," he whispered, wanting to warn the man not to try.

He cut himself off from his warning, because even trying to talk sent a spike of pain straight through his skull. And shamefully, because he needed and longed for his help. Even if Sephiroth failed and both of them were hurt more badly for his attempt, Loz needed to know whose side Sephiroth was really on. He felt he'd be getting an answer soon.

"Don't 'oh shit' me," the man who had accused Loz of killing his daughter earlier in the night laughed. "What's he gunna do, huh? He only just managed to stand up! He's pathetic and harmless. Just remember to pummel him without your knife so we still get our reward for delivering him to Corneo in as close to one piece as we can."

Sephiroth shifted in the sand, eyes narrowing. Loz's head was clearing quickly, fueled by adrenaline and fear. As he regained his focus enough to see Sephiroth clearly, he felt the bastards were probably right. Sephiroth was wavering a little where he stood, tense and stiff. None the less, he had at least given Loz a moment to collect his thoughts, and thoroughly distracted their two attackers, who were now stepping over Loz to move towards the shaking man's tall form.

Loz was so busy watching them approach Sephiroth that it took him a moment to register the sound that started behind him as the men moved away. When finally noticed that there was a sound, it took him even longer to place it. It sounded very much like someone pulling nails of wood.

He twisted away from the sight of Sephiroth being circled like a wounded gazelle, looking behind himself and up the short distance into the bed of the wagon. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to keep from screaming for joy.

Someone was pulling nails out. Someone very familiar and utterly welcome. Yazoo's face was caked in blood, and his blind eye was to Loz, but it was him. His slim brother was utterly committed to prying the chain off the wagon with the spiked end of a hammer Loz recognized as one of his kidnapper's. Loz watched with shock and adoration as Yazoo stayed crouched in the shadows of the wagon bed, working at the nails with a silent and unshakable determination.

Sephiroth's distraction, though underwhelming so far as Yazoo was concerned, was a welcome chance. He'd been about to blow his cover and just attack the bastards hurting his Loz. He probably wouldn't have won, either. He was feeling shaky ever since seeing the Ancient. In fact, he couldn't remember much of anything between killing his second of the guards and seeing the flower girl who stole Kadaj from him.

But the easy dismissal of Loz as a threat by the guards had given Yazoo the chance he needed. While they played cat and mouse with the barely standing Sephiroth, he was free to use the tool he'd found in his hiding place among the shadows in the wagon. The sound of the nails prying free and the hammer's spikes sliding against the metal plate sounded deafening to Yazoo. He glanced up to check on the men, but if they heard the noise, they were dismissing it. They were far too busy half-rushing Sephiroth, just to watch him stumble to notice one more green-eyed clone than they had originally captured.

He was aware that Loz was staring at him, but he didn't permit himself to look at his brother. He knew what he saw would boil his blood in rage again, and he needed to free Loz and take him away from there, not blindly attack the fuckers who'd hurt him. He jerked back on the handle he held, wrenching the metal plate which connected Loz's chain to the wagon side almost completely out of its anchoring. It made a horrible groaning sound as he did.

"Son of a bitch," Yazoo whispered. "Come on."

He adjusted the hammer, ready to pry the last two nails free. Loz had different ideas. Before Yazoo could finish positioning the hammer, the boy scrambled to his feet, gaining them shakily, grabbing the chain himself. Yazoo lifted his gaze to his bruised brother and shook his head in warning. He was summarily ignored. Before he could draw the breath to warn his brother, Loz yanked himself free. The last two nails pulled out with a crack, sending Loz sprawling backwards in the sand with a soft puff of breath. He scrambled to his feet the moment he managed to breathe in again, and was off like a shot towards Sephiroth.

Yazoo could only gawk in alarm as Loz hurtled towards the men and flung himself at one of them, knocking the stranger off his feet in a tumble of black leather and dusty kidnapper. The shout of surprise split the air, but Yazoo could see from the standing man's face that the element of surprise wouldn't last long. Yazoo tightened his grip on his hammer, experiencing one of his rare moments of clarity where everything in the entire world made perfect sense. This he could deal with. It was down to The Others against his kind now, and Yazoo had always liked simplistic categorical statements like that.

Just as the friend of Loz's victim stepped over the downed Sephiroth to assist his fellow kidnapper, Yazoo broke cover. He moved at a dead run over the short distance separating himself and his victim. Though the sand dragged at his feet and slowed him down, he was still more than fast enough to slam the spiked end of the hammer into the back of the man's skull before the fool even realized anyone was behind him. Blood spurted, and Yazoo neatly side-stepped the geyser. The man twisted as he fell, and Yazoo had to let go of the hammer to keep from being dragged down as well. He huffed softly at the twitching body he'd felled, staring into horrified eyes with cold disdain. Really, the man deserved a medal. After all, he was still clinging to life with a hammer embedded in his skull and brain. If Loz hadn't been in trouble, Yazoo might have taken the time to applaud.

As it was, the sound of Loz's scuffle was still ongoing. Glancing up, Yazoo found Loz was not doing terribly well. He sighed, kicking his victim over to lie on his stomach as he twitched and gasped for air. With a firm hand, he grabbed the handle of the hammer and placed his foot firmly on the soon-to-be-dead man's back for leverage. It came free with a rather horrible squelching noise, and the faintest breathy edge of a scream. Still the man kept twitching and clinging to life. Impressive, Yazoo thought despite himself, even as he stepped around the writhing figure towards his brother. He glanced to the bloody hammer, and reconsidered his approach. He reached neatly into the tumbling pile of limbs, grabbed the back of Loz's collar and hauled him out of the wrestling match.

Loz yelped as he was extracted, thrashing a little in Yazoo's hold. His opponent snarled, scrambling to his feet and almost tripping again over the chain that had all but bound him and Loz together during their struggle. He glanced to his dying friend when he gained his balance, and panic lit in his eyes. Yazoo smiled. He set Loz down carefully on the sand.

"Loz," he purred, never removing his gaze from their opponent. "Did this man hurt you?"

"Well, yeah, but so did you just now," Loz groused grumpily through his split lips, lifting a hand to wipe blood out of his eyes.

"Would you like to kill him?" Yazoo asked sweetly, ignoring Loz's indignation.

"What?" His little brother asked, looking up at him with startled eyes.

Yazoo kept his gaze steady on the kidnapper, his hand loose and relaxed over the hammer he held, letting it sink in for his brother without elaborating out loud.

"Frank," The man screamed. "Nat, Stephen, get your asses over here!"

"Are those your guards?" Yazoo questioned with a trace of amusement as Loz tried to catch up mentally. "I think I killed them not too long ago. There should still be blood stains out in the sand. No bodies, though. I'm much to good at this to leave bodies behind."

That drew the asshole up short. Yazoo could have purred in pleasure at the look on his face. A mixture of immediate disbelief and the utter knowledge that it could be true. And it was—oh it definitely was. He need never know that it had come at a cost—That he could barely see the immediate desert around them, and his head was pounding with an unrelenting headache that he was pushing away for the moment in favor of savoring the moment.

"I wanna," Loz hissed with conviction while their enemy gaped and struggled for words. "I wanna kill 'im."

"Good," Yazoo praised, honestly proud of his brother. He passed Loz the hammer without taking his eyes off the man who was staring at them in disbelief.

"Strike hard," Yazoo advised, his hand lingering on the hammer, shadowing Loz's grip for a moment while the boy steadied his grip on the wooden handle.

"I wouldn't move," an ugly voice boomed behind them.

Yazoo tightened his grip over Loz's hands, freezing for a moment. Loz went just as stiff and still under his touch, except for the continued shaking in his cold hands. Yazoo slowly released his grip shadowing Loz's, and was relieved when the boy didn't drop the hammer. He glanced back over his shoulder with his good eye, trusting Loz to keep watch on their prey. He wouldn't have trusted him with that the last time they'd been together, but if this little misadventure hadn't taught his little brother appropriate caution, nothing would.

The rotund man standing behind them didn't strike him as anything even remotely resembling a threat. Or he wouldn't have if he hadn't been sighting down a rifle at them. Yazoo hummed to himself in displeasure at the intrusion, looking the man up and down. He'd seen him before—dumpy, and angry, and flushing with annoyance, yelling about this or that. His memories were from conference rooms and white halls. Which, of course, meant they weren't his at all. More of Sephiroth's unwelcome memories, though at least they came in handy this time.

"Mr. President," Yazoo murmured, trying not to betray the way his heart pounded under his chest. "Rare of you to involve yourself personally."

"I knew there were more of you," the man huffed, a nasty grin on his face which he must have thought looked wicked. "The full set will be far better. Once Corneo and I deliver you to the Goddess on a silver platter we'll be passed through to the Promised Land in no time!"

"You're still on about the Promised Land then," Yazoo drawled, his voice sounding dry and rusty in the sandy air. "How dull."

The man behind him who Loz had been poised to kill was moving towards Yazoo's last victim. He pulled something off the twitching body, and Yazoo heard another gun cock. So they were surrounded then, he thought to himself. The strap of leather Loz left behind as a sign to him was tight around his chest as he breathed as deeply as he could through a dry throat. He was definitely dehydrated.

"Well," He finally rasped. "you do seem to have us in your grasp."

"Obviously," The President preened, walking forward smoothly.

Yazoo tensed, hoping he'd make the mistake of an amateur gunman and walk close enough that he could disarm him, and take the weapon for himself. Unfortunately, the former President was not quite that stupid. He stopped far enough away that Yazoo would have been shot from both sides well before he could reach his target. He wouldn't have minded as much, except that he was now quite aware of the fact that he could still be destroyed. And worse, that Loz could be if Yazoo failed to protect him.

"And now that I have all three of you, it looks a lot more like a matched set," The President laughed—an ugly sound as rotund and grotesque as he was. "You're more than beautiful enough to make up for a maimed Sephiroth."

Yazoo glanced back at the man as his name was mentioned. Sephiroth was still on the ground, propped up on one elbow, breathing hard. He was obviously not paying attention. Yazoo flickered his gaze downwards, following Sephiroth's look to his little brother, who was still standing at his side. Loz was shaking slightly and gripping the hammer he'd been given with one hand. His free fingers were moving quickly, forming brief jerky shapes.

Yazoo lifted his head again at once, meeting the President's eyes and hoping the man hadn't noticed. He didn't know exactly what was going on, but he was no fool. He could tell when there was a plan being formulated, even when he wasn't in on it. If Loz and Sephiroth were planning something, then the most useful thing he could do was keep the men distracted long enough for them to do it. He could only hope it wasn't something absolutely moronic.

"I'm pleased you noticed," Yazoo said with a dark purr in his voice. "I was worried the blood of your men might dampen the effect I had on you somewhat. After all, I did break three of them on the way to find my little brother. Who, I notice, is not entirely intact himself."

"He disobeyed us," The president scoffed, shifting the gun just a little, as though waving it away with the barrel of his rifle. "And like any disrespectful child, he got a beating for it."

"Hn," Yazoo chuckled, not bothering to hide the amusement from his voice. "I begin to see why your own son turned out to be such a mess."

"Don't speak of that boy to me," the rotund man snarled.

"Please," Yazoo laughed openly, tilting his head coyly at the display of fury, "Don't yell anymore, you turn such an amusing shade of purple." He looked back at the man guarding their backs. "How do you work for this man without laughing?"

"You'll regret saying that," The President snarled. "You'll regret ever showing your face to me. I'll-"

"You'll what?" Yazoo purred. "Blind my other eye? Crush me to death again? Stab me, rape me, trap me, bind me, wipe me blank like chalk off a board?" He laughed, bitterly but honestly. "As ever, you are nothing more than a copy cat and a follower, Mr. President. There's never been an original thought in your mind, and there never will be."

"I've had enough of you," the President snarled, lifting his head to his minion. "Get them trussed up and let's get moving again!"

Yazoo tensed, ready to resist. The minion started forward, stepping heavily through the deep sand towards Loz and Yazoo. Then Sephiroth moved. There was nothing elegant in the way he threw a handful of sand into the man's face, but it was effective. The goon spluttered, backing up a step, and Sephiroth delivered a well aimed kick at his ankles, dropping both the man and his gun to the ground. Sephiroth scrambled astride the man in a matter of moments and pressed one forearm against his trachea, crushing the life out of him with supreme calm.

At the same moment, Loz whirled, sinking to one knee in the sand as he threw the hammer with all his might at the President. It wasn't a perfect shot, but it didn't need to be. The heavy metal struck the fat man solidly on the forehead, and left him obviously dazed. He squeezed off a single shot from his rifle before Yazoo was upon him. It barely grazed the remnant's forehead.

He didn't bother getting inventive. He snapped the president's neck with a cry of effort, and just a little difficulty when his hand almost slipped on his sweaty skin. Then everything was silence except for the quiet struggles of the man Sephiroth was suffocating, and his brother's heavy breaths.

Yazoo turned, letting out a long breath himself, and found Loz watching him with wide, worried eyes. He hesitated a moment, glancing over to make sure Sephiroth had his victim well in hand, before crouching and opening his arms to his little brother. Loz's eye that wasn't swollen widened, and Yazoo saw tears streak down his cheeks. Then the younger man ran forward in a stumbling sprint and threw himself into Yazoo's arms. They clung to one another, and Yazoo closed his eyes, letting out a breath it felt like he had been holding from the moment he lost track of his little brother.

"You followed us," Loz whispered into his chest.

"You knew I would." Yazoo muttered into his hair in return. "Or you wouldn't have left part of your belt for me."

"I hoped," Loz choked, burrowing his face into the slightly misshapen chest over Yazoo's heartbeat. "I hoped, but I never thought you'd really—really be able to-"

"So little faith in me." Yazoo scolded softly. "Stop panicking. You're already hurt. I can smell blood all over you."

"You too," Loz whispered in return.

"Not mine," Yazoo scoffed, waving the concern away.

He gave a little tug as he shifted, and Loz crumpled in his lap obediently. Yazoo checked on the hole in the side of his leathers, and hissed when he found a scabbed-over graze from a bullet there, which cut deep into the skin, only an inch away from puncturing a kidney. He ghosted his fingers around the injury, eying it suspiciously. He wished they hadn't lost the pack Mrs. Strife had given them. The wound wasn't as bad as the one that had scarred Loz's arm, but it was bad.

"I—It doesn't hurt much," Loz whispered into Yazoo's shoulder. "Where they whipped me's almost stopped hurting too..."

"Loz," Yazoo interrupted, his hands shaking just a little on his little brother's side. "Don't brush it off. It wasn't nothing, and I know you're hurt. It's alright. I'm not going to laugh at you. This was my fault."

"No it-"

"Loz," Yazoo murmured, interrupting again. "We both know I should not have left you. So many of the bad things that have happened to you have been my fault. Maybe even all of them. That's over now."

He ran a careful hand over Loz's hair, feeling his fingers shake as he stroked his brother's tangled sandy locks. Yazoo was intimately aware that the shaking in his hands was different now. It was not because he was touching Loz. It was because he had almost lost him. He didn't care if Loz touched him anymore. He could only barely remember why he'd resisted in the first place. They were brothers. If Loz ever hurt him, he would re-evaluate. But it hadn't happened yet, and something told Yazoo it wouldn't.

So instead of fussing at the trembling wreck of a boy in his arms, or insisting on seeing his injuries at once, or suspiciously eying Sephiroth as the man picked himself up and shook out his hair, Yazoo just held on. He held on to his little brother, and didn't comment when Loz started crying into his shoulder. Yazoo just closed his eyes, nuzzled into Loz's hair, and let his own tears of relief fall as well.


	31. Chapter 31

Fury was new to her. She'd been angry before. She'd been hurt before, many times. She'd lost loved ones, and pieces of herself, and been furious. She had been angry enough that she literally saw red. But this was very different. Fury was new to her.

'Pointless' was the only word that ran through her head as she watched Zack struggle to hold together. A pointless act of violence, from a pointless creature. She had pitied Kadaj. She had taken mercy on him. She had welcomed him into her sanctuary and done her best to protect him from the Goddess's task. Even Zack, who had so many reasons to be distrustful of everyone, had been warm to him—kind to him. And yet again, he had been repaid for loyalty and friendship with death.

'Pointless,' her mind repeated again as she watched the blood ooze out of the seam in Zack's neck that just couldn't quite heal. Screaming echoed in her ears from the souls she'd picked up, and she ignored them. If Zack fell apart, what would anything be worth. What was the use of a world where men like him—good men—had nothing but sorrow and pain. Wind howled around her, gathering dark clouds and flickers of lightning. Her world was in turmoil, thrown into darkness. She had no light to give it. She had only fury.

"Aerith," Angeal's voice spoke behind her, "This looks pretty dangerous. We should go. Get him somewhere safe. One of the Goddess's springs or-"

"He moves, he dies," Aerith spoke darkly, not looking at the tall man behind her. "If he can't get himself into one piece, then no spring of hers will save him."

"It wasn't his fault," Angeal argued, "Surely the Goddess will save him-"

"Like she saved you?" Aerith asked bitterly. "Like she saved Zack before, when he was bleeding to death? Like she saved me, or my mother, or Gast, or Lillian? The Goddess does not save people, Angeal. She does nothing but watch."

Silence fell. Zack's eyes opened again, wide and horrified. His lips parted on a hollow, useless gasp for air. Nothing reached his lungs. His eyes dimmed. He faded again. Dead three times now, that Aerith had watched. Green shimmered under his skin.

"Zack," Angeal whispered, shifting behind her.

Aerith could hear the pain in his voice, but she said nothing. She had no words of comfort, or sage advice. She waited for Zack to wake again, knowing that moment might never come, and boiled inside with rage. Her lover stayed pale and unmoving before them, his hair and clothes and skin all mired in the black sludge that has been what remained of Aerith's garden when she arrived. Even now, only a small area around them was habitable. The garden would take forever to re-grow—if she ever had reason to regrow it. It was getting less and less likely with every moment. A soul could only take so much—even Zack, who'd come through more horrors intact that anyone she'd ever seen.

And there was nothing she could do. Underneath her anger, Aerith felt misery rise, and she shoved it back. She had no time for sadness. She had no use for it. That was why she wasn't looking at Angeal's sad eyes, or wiping the darkness soothingly off her dead lover's skin. There was no good it would do. And she had a much better idea of how to respond. There was a clear path to making sure this never happened again. She rose abruptly from Zack's side, eyes fixed on the distance.

"Aerith?" Angeal asked, sounding bewildered and worried. "What are you doing?"

"Stay with Zack," She ordered. "Don't leave his side for a moment, Angeal."

"But where are you going?" the once-general asked, his hand reaching out to touch hers. "He needs you here, Aerith, not me."

"You'll have to do," She replied coldly, pulling her hand away. "I've got an infection to take care of."

"Aerith-" Angeal started.

She gave him no time to finish. She called the life stream to her, and was gone.

Loz picked the gun up out of the sand and studied it, turning it over in his hands. He leveled it at the dead President's head, smiling wickedly, and considering whether or not to pull the trigger.

"Loz," Yazoo's voice called from behind him, "Don't waste the ammunition. Sephiroth's got them covered. Right?"

Loz looked up to their silent companion, who was holding in his good hand the rusted metal spike that had been driven through his wrists to bind him. Sephiroth tapped the bloody spike against his own shoulder in silent threat, and gave Loz a little smile.

"Just collect the guns and bring them to the wagon," Yazoo's voice called again. "The sooner we get out of this desert the better off we'll be."

Loz turned to stick his tongue out at him, but didn't actually make it through the motion. He got stuck watching Yazoo. His brother was carefully collecting all the water containers he could find, his movements graceful and with an economy of movement Loz had never possessed on his best day. He was slender and beautiful, and still covered in dried blood. It matted his hair in some places. When he straightened from his task, Loz looked over the torn front of his jacket, remembering how the scars he bore were inflicted. When Yazoo lifted his head, his blind eye shone a little in the sun.

"I'm glad you're back, brother," Loz whispered to himself, turning back to picking up the weapons that lay abandoned by their dead captors.

Sephiroth raised an eyebrow at him, then turned as one of the men made a little choking sound. Wordlessly, Sephiroth stepped on his throat as though he were squashing a cockroach. Loz smiled up at him for it. It was good to see their original getting back to feeling like himself. He might have imagined it, but he thought he saw the silent man give a shadow of a smirk in return.

It was strange how quickly Loz's pain had subsided with Yazoo nearby again and his bonds removed. He was sore all over, and the cut where the bullet had grazed him still hurt fiercely, but Loz felt like himself again. He practically capered over to Yazoo with his haul, and placed them in the back of the wagon happily. If he was acting strangely, though, Yazoo was acting stranger. Whenever Loz got close enough, his elder brother would reach out to touch him briefly or ruffle his hair. It was a vast difference from before, and a welcome one as far as Loz was concerned. He made it a point to get close enough for Yazoo to touch as often as he could.

When it was time to get the Chocobos hooked up, they ran into a problem. The birds shied away so fiercely from both of them that it was much more likely that they would snap their necks than agree to be harnessed. Yazoo threw what Loz would consider a brief diva fit at the discovery, tossing his hair and huffing in frustration. Loz just shuffled bashfully, wishing they still had access to shadow beasts. He thought it would be really cool to have a wagon pulled by shadow beasts.

Their consternation was ended by Sephiroth, who moved over silently, dropping the spike of metal between them and smoothly approaching the birds. Loz watched him move avidly. He'd changed his gait again, shifting gears to be assertive and in control, but in no way aggressive. He practically oozed confidence as he took one Chocobo's beak carefully in hand and led it over to the wagon without bothering with a lead rope. The bird held still while Sephiroth took his time figuring out how to work the belt buckle.

"He's changed," Yazoo muttered. "He's getting stronger again."

"Well, he could hardly get weaker," Loz muttered back with a shrug. "He's on our side, so it's okay, right?"

"I suppose," His brother muttered with a shrug. "How did you decide on the language?"

"Uh," Loz shrugged a little, "that was his idea. Worked pretty well, though, right?"

"Very," Yazoo agreed.

They watched as Sephiroth walked back over to the giant birds, inspecting the remaining ones. In opposition to their contrary nature with Loz and Yazoo, they crowded eagerly closer to him, straightening up and ruffling their feathers. Sephiroth selected one that looked just like the others to Loz, and then removed the harnesses from the other birds, letting them run off into the desert. He led the chosen one over to hitch it up next to the other one, and Loz had to smile a little as the birds groomed each other lightly while Sephiroth worked on hooking the second one up.

"How do you do that?" Loz called. "I thought they didn't like people, uh, you know, like us."

Sephiroth glanced up and shrugged rather elegantly, making a little waving motion with his good hand. Loz wasn't entirely sure whether that meant 'go away,' or 'I'll tell you later,' but he decided to go with the second, because it sounded nicer. He turned to Yazoo instead, since they had done the gathering they needed to do and Sephiroth had the wagon in hand.

"Thanks," Loz said simply, gazing up at his brother, "for following me."

"Well I couldn't very well not follow you," Yazoo muttered, still watching Sephiroth. "I'd never be sure if you'd show back up surprisingly and stab me or something horrible. Better to have you where I can keep an eye on you."

"Meanie," Loz muttered, though there was no heat in the word. Yazoo was covering, and Loz was just being nice enough to let his brother pretend a little while longer that he didn't care enough to risk life and limb chasing after him. "What're we gunna do now?"

Yazoo shrugged with one shoulder, glancing down at him. "I'm still not sure what we've been doing up until this point. Keep moving. Try to stay alive. Avoid danger when at all possible. Heal up, if we can."

"With Sephiroth, right?" Loz asked, trying his best to sound innocent.

"I suppose," Yazoo muttered, glancing back at the guards. "Though I still think he's dangerous. I suppose I can't exactly fault him for creating us. So long as he doesn't touch, I'll leave him alone."

"Thanks, Yaz," Loz sighed happily, feeling a quiet contentment bubbling in his chest. "You're the best brother ever."

Yazoo rolled his eyes, and didn't respond. Sephiroth motioned to them both, climbing stiffly up into the driver's bench of the wagon. Loz trotted over eagerly to climb into the wagon's wide rear, sitting at the front of the bed, just behind Sephiroth. He grinned up at the maimed man, then pouted as he realized that he was on Sephiroth's blind side and the man couldn't even see the look. He switched sides, and repeated the grin. Sephiroth's only response was to arch his eyebrow mildly.

"You know how to drive this thing?" Yazoo muttered, climbing in behind Loz.

Sephiroth just snapped the reins briskly in response. Loz couldn't help but laugh when Yazoo stumbled as the creatures jolted into motion, but quickly stifled the noise when his brother glared at him and edged over to sit nearby. Loz cleared his throat and tried to look guilty for laughing. It worked until he heard the soft throaty chuckle escaping Sephiroth. Then he couldn't help but grin again.

"Very funny," Yazoo muttered grumpily. "Great way to repay the man who saved both your lives."

"Sorry, Yaz," Loz muttered, the grin replaced with honest contrition. He didn't hold the guilty look long. It was replaced with a huge yawn.

"Go to sleep, idiot," Yazoo muttered. "And not on top of me. I need to learn how to drive this thing for when our benevolent creator gives out, which we all know is inevitable."

Sephiroth shot a brief look over his shoulder, but didn't seem to upset, just shrugging with one shoulder and scooting over on the front bench to make room for Yazoo next to him. Loz yawned again. He couldn't deny that he was exhausted, so just this once he didn't try to start an argument with his know-it-all brother.

Loz blinked blearily, shifting to settle in the front corner of the wagon. He didn't want to lie on the bed of the wagon, where Sephiroth had been collapsed for so long. He settled into the nook instead, curling his feet up on the seat. It was a pretty nice and stable spot, so he could deal with it not being in any way soft. He kept his eyes on Yazoo as his brother rose to his feet, taking care to stand steadily. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he scratched at a bit of the flaking blood on his face as Loz watched.

The younger remnant reached out and caught Yazoo's wrist lightly before he could move past him. Yazoo didn't shake him off this time, and looked down to meet his eyes. The lack of disgust in his gaze made Loz smile just a little.

"Take care of yourself too, okay?" Loz murmured softly. "I worry about you."

Yazoo stared at him a long moment, then carefully patted his hands. He withdrew his touch from Loz's, but only to lean forward and press a careful and hesitant kiss to the crown on his head.

"Go to sleep," Yazoo urged softly again, though with less of the false coldness in his voice. "And don't worry. I'm a sturdy person, Loz."

"I know," Loz sighed softly. "But so was Angeal. Promise."

"Alright," his brother huffed, rolling his eyes. It looked strange to see the blind eye still moving in synch with the whole one, but Loz thought it was kind of cute, in a way. "I promise I'll take a little while to rest too, and I won't push myself too hard. Now will you sleep?"

"Yup," Loz murmured, already drifting off. "Since ya already promised not to be mean to Seph. Night, brother."

"It's daytime, idiot," Yazoo muttered.

Loz just smiled as he listened to his brother climbing over the rail of the wagon to settle next to Sephiroth. He could practically visualize the gap he kept between them. His sleepy mind filled in the look that would be on Yazoo's face too. He'd be looking at the reins—at how Sephiroth was holding them in one hand, and how he flicked them now and then. His face would be pulled into a slight frown of concentration as he studied each movement, looking for the reason behind it and the finesses. Then, when it was his turn, he would seamlessly emulate them.

Loz heaved a soft, happy sigh. It was good to have a brilliant brother.

He dozed during the trip, huddling up in his corner. The sun rose swiftly above them, but compared to the heat of the day before, when he'd been marching behind this same wagon, it was decidedly bearable. He just unzipped his top and draped it over his shoulders instead of wearing it like it was supposed to be worn. It kept his arms from getting too sweaty, but still protected him from sunburn.

It was a while later that the wagon jostled, waking him somewhat. He glanced up to see that Yazoo had taken the reins, sitting where Sephiroth had been as their originator shifted to join Loz in the back of the wagon. Loz gave him a sleepy smile and settled back in. The ride was less smooth with Yazoo driving, and snaked back and forth a little more than it had with Sephiroth at the helm, but it was still pleasant enough. Loz watched Sephiroth settle in the other corner of the wagon, the stump of his hand pressed against his chest protectively, still coated in dried blood from being so inventively bound to his intact hand.

Loz's eyes closed again. He let out a soft sigh, settling in quietly in his corner. He heard Yazoo muttering to himself quietly. He'd probably deny it if Loz mentioned it, but with no one listening in, his older brother murmured quietly, either to the Chocobos or himself. Loz couldn't hear him very clearly, but just the soft, low whisper of words was enough to compensate for the slight serpentine Yazoo couldn't seem to help but drive their Chocobos in. Sleep came easily, and for once Loz found that there were no nightmares, and no fears. Not with his brothers so close by to guard him.

It seemed he'd only blinked for a moment when he was awakened by a jerk so fierce it almost shook him off the wagon entirely. He clung to the side, suddenly wide awake, and casting about in confusion for what had gone wrong. The sky was dark, and the wood under his hands was shaking and rocking as the Chocobos warked and balked. He shook his head, looking up for Yazoo in the driver's seat and finding him pale, dragging back on the reins to try and get the Chocobos under control once more.

Glancing at Sephiroth yielded him no more answers. The man had half toppled over the wagon side, and was still trying to right himself. Loz got up to move over to help him, worried he might get his hair tangled in the wheel. What he saw just in front of the wagon stopped him dead in his tracks. Oh so familiar braided hair, such a well known pink dress. Silver bracelets on each wrist, and eyes the same shade of green as sunlight through new leaves in the spring. The only piece of her he found unrecognizable was the look on her face. Fury dwarfed her. As did the tower of bright green swirls of power that whirled around her like her own personal tornado.

Yazoo was pulling back on the Chocobos, trying to urge them away, and Loz grabbed Sephiroth's shoulder, dragging him back into the wagon and shoving him rather unceremoniously into the bed of the wagon. He didn't want Aerith seeing Sephiroth. Not when she was already this mad. He scrambled up next to his brother, grabbing his shoulders in a tight grip.

The birds began to obey, backing away from the immense power the woman was radiating, partially of their own accord. Or they were until Aerith lifted a hand and snapped the bonds holding them in their harnesses. The birds dashed away without a single glance back, leaving the brothers in a dead vehicle. Yazoo tossed away the reins and rose. He looked as confident as the day he was created, but Loz could feel him shaking. He squeezed his shoulders lightly, trying not to look too afraid.

"What do you want?" Yazoo asked in a voice that was deceptively calm.

"To wipe out an infection," Aerith's voice replied firmly, angry and echoed by a dozen whispers in the air.

"Loz, stay behind me," Yazoo whispered, shifting further in front of his little brother before turning back to Aerith. "You didn't seem nearly as eager to fight the last time we met."

In answer, her hand lifted again, and pressed down on open air. The wagon groaned, and cracked under their feet, buckling and sending both brothers sprawling onto the ground. Loz kept hold of Yazoo's coat, and scrambled back closer the moment he touched down. He didn't dare glance back at Sephiroth. His older brother was slower to pick himself up, taking a heavy breath first, shifting to gain his equilibrium as he rose to his hands and knees, then shakily rose to his feet again. Loz stayed close by his side, but only held on with one hand. He wasn't just some mewling child who needed protection. He would fight too, if it came to that.

"I have been lenient," Aerith cried, the whispers doubling her voice again. A tendril of green snaked out towards them, whispering the words in Loz's ear. He batted it away quickly, pressing a little closer to Yazoo as the woman continued speaking. "But no more. The blight will be removed, from the newest bud to the deepest root."

Loz tried to open his mouth to speak, but something stopped him. His jaw was clenched shut, and though he tightened his hand on Yazoo's jacket, his arms were drawn inexorably towards his side. He was dragged away, and when Yazoo turned to look, with alarm in his eyes, it was too late. Loz was hauled upwards with invisible power, hanging in the air. He struggled against the bonds he could not see, his eyes fixed on his brother. He could feel tears streaming down his face in fear, but he couldn't make a sound. He could barely breathe. With his mouth clamped shut he was gasping for air through his nose. Claustrophobia closed in, greying his vision a little.

"Put him down," Yazoo insisted sharply below him.

"Don't worry," Aerith's voice said darkly, sounding so very little like Loz thought she ought to. "You'll be following him quickly, and then neither of you will have to worry about anything. Not ever again."

Loz silently urged Yazoo to run. His eyes darted back and forth between his brother and Sephiroth, who was slowly picking himself up from the wreckage of the wagon, still unnoticed so far.

His focus was lost as the breath was squeezed out of him. Loz let out a keening yell through his clenched jaw. The very air squeezed in around him, pressing in. It crushed down on him on every piece of his body at once, leaving him breathless breath out of him. It felt like his head had been shoved into a vice. He suddenly had a flash of Yazoo's face beneath a boot, and felt new empathy through his horror. Yazoo let out a distant cry and Loz forced an eye open to watch him run towards Aerith only to be blasted backwards by an invisible force.

The power crunched down on him again, squeezing harder, and he let out a whimper, struggling to stay awake, and fighting for a breath. If nothing else, he wanted to say goodbye to Yazoo. Even if he had to die, he couldn't let it be like this. Not when they'd finally come so far. The vice around him tightened, and brought with it a terrible chill, that sank down through compressed skin straight into Loz's bones—so cold that it was in and of itself horrifically painful.

He heard a voice raised in a scream, knew it was his brother's, but couldn't look. Couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. He was dying. Again. He'd hated it the first time. And now, with Aerith's green eyes still glowing so bright he could even see them through his eyelids, he very much doubted he would wake up this time.

He grimaced, feeling the tightness start to pull in for the final crunch. Which never came. Warmth blossomed on top of his skin, spreading inwards and eradicating the cold. His clothes were practically burning. He struggled to draw in a breath, but was held to tight. Warmer, he thought, but not enough.

"Young lady, you put them down right this instant, or so help me I will call your mother."

The words sparked something deep in the heart of Loz. Something warm and aching and needy. It stoked that part of him awake so quickly that he managed to gasp a breath in surprise.

"Mama," he rasped out, still dangling in midair, his eyes closed, and the clamp of Aerith's power still crushing him.

"Aerith, you heard me," Mama Strife said firmly, ignoring Loz for the moment. "I said down."

Loz felt the bonds around him loosen, and fell quite suddenly. As he fell, he gasped in air, his eyes flying open. He hit the ground hard, flat on his back. He lost his breath yet again, and jerked, struggling and failing to draw in breath, still feeling himself dying from the lack of oxygen.

"Easy does it," Mama Strife's voice murmured as her hand came to rest on his shoulder. "Take it slow."

"Move away from them," Aerith's twisted voice commanded. "Do not test your powers against mine, Lillian."

"Yazoo?" Mama Strife called. "Breathe. It's okay. Come and take your brother from me."

"Mama," Loz wheezed weakly, finally managing to gasp in gulps of air where he lay on the ground.

His blurred vision couldn't see more than a rough outline of her face, but it was definitely her. Blonde hair and striking blue eyes, and smiling at him, fondly and warmly.

"Stay put," She said softly. "I'm going to have a word with Miss Aerith."

Her hands went away, and Loz briefly struggled to hold on to her. Another body greeted his hands. He found himself gripping ragged, ripped leather and long silken hair. He grabbed hold and dragged himself into his brother's arms. Yazoo let out not a whimper of protest, and clung back to him just as fiercely, cradling him carefully against himself. Loz could feel him breathing, in rough, hollow gasps like he himself was. Not just him who was in trouble then, he guessed.

"What do you think you're doing, attacking them like that?" Mama Strife's voice spoke behind him, her voice barely audible over the heavy breathing of both brothers. "You're the one who talked me into taking them in in the first place, and now you drag me out here? You realize if I hadn't made those clothes myself you actually would have killed them, right?"

"You will remove yourself from the situation," Aerith ordered darkly. "No one shall oppose the Hand of the Goddess in her work."

"Oh not this 'Hand of the Goddess' crap," Loz could hear the eye-roll Mama Strife gave as she spoke the words. "What happened to the sweet girl I know who always blushed when she heard those words, huh?"

"She is with Zachary," Aerith replied. Something in her words made Loz look up, and he felt Yazoo still attentively as well. "And they are both dead."

"What?" Loz cried, sitting bolt upright.

Yazoo grabbed him tightly, keeping him in place. Loz struggled briefly, but pressed right back against him when his outburst drew Aerith's attention.

"Oh sweetie," Mama Strife murmured. "He'll come back. He will. Don't do something you're going to regret while he's away."

"Too long," Aerith said darkly, her eyes now fixed over Mama Strife's shoulder, staring at Loz and Yazoo. "I've let the blight spread too long."

"Please," Loz whispered. "We didn't do anything. She said we could keep going. She said we could try."

"Loz, hush," Yazoo snapped quietly, clamping his arms around him.

"But she said!" Loz cried. "The blonde woman! She said she'd leave us alone!"

"Deal's off," Aerith said coldly, pushing past the petit mother standing between them. "And you can thank both your brothers for that."

Loz glanced back to Yazoo. He was glaring fixedly at Aerith, his eyes bloodshot and his expression one of poorly masked fury. There was a new gash over his cheek, where her uncanny power had hit him. He did not shift his gaze to look at Loz. Before, he wouldn't have known what to make of that. Now he knew exactly what it meant.

"What did you do?" he whispered softly to his brother.

Yazoo did not respond. He tightened his hold on Loz, still glaring at Aerith with an unrestrained anger. From how close he was, Loz could see tears gathering in his brother's eyes. He was starting to shake, his body jolting behind Loz's back, and his breath coming in soft, trembling gasps.

"Destruction of souls on his part," Aerith said coldly. "And the murder of Zack on Kadaj's."

A soft sound came from behind them—a brief sound of disbelief and sorrow—and Loz stiffened, glancing back. He could see Sephiroth shifting under the wagon's rubble, struggling to lift himself.

"So thank you brother, Loz." She continued coldly. "Go ahead. I'll give you time before I wipe you both out."

"Now wait just a minute, young lady," Mama Strife interrupted, inserting herself again. "If you think for one moment that I'm-"

Loz let her voice trail into the back of his awareness. He turned to look at Yazoo, focusing his attention on his shaking brother. This time, Yazoo looked down as well, his brows twisted upwards. Their eyes met, and Loz felt a twinge in his chest. He looked up at Yazoo's mismatched eyes, and wished he could see them whole again. Something told him that his blind eye would have healed eventually. He loved it, in its own right, but he hated anything that hampered his beautiful brother. Or at least he did now.

"Thanks," he whispered after a long moment.

"Don't," Yazoo argued instantly, his voice low and with a hint of tears. "We need to run. We need to-"

"It doesn't matter," Loz sighed, leaning against his brother's chest wearily. His body still ached from being pressed so tight, and hearing Yazoo's heart beating inside his chest helped him to calm down, at least a little bit. "It doesn't matter what happens from here. I wanna say thanks. Not the way she wanted me to, just thanks. For putting up with me. For not ever really wringing my neck. And for saving me. Twice. At least."

Yazoo said nothing, but the sorrow built behind his eyes. Loz kept his gaze turned away from the heating fight between the two powerful women behind him, and hid himself against Yazoo's chest. Warm arms closed around him, tighter than was comfortable, but all comfort, and love, and desperation. All what he felt. And it was immeasurably better, in that moment, to be with someone else who was like him. He didn't worry about Sephiroth—he couldn't. His own fate and Yazoo's consumed his mind. Part of him—most of him even—believed that Mama Strife could sooth Aerith, but there was an inevitability about the brunette. She was a force of nature now. Nature didn't reason. It just happened.

"Whatever happens," Yazoo whispered above him, the words rumbling in his chest.

He didn't expand on the statement, but Loz knew what he meant. He meant 'you're welcome,' and 'thank you too,' and 'I'm sorry,' all at once. It would have been just as simple to say it, but that wasn't Yazoo's way. It never had been, and it never would be.

"I wish we could be with Kadaj," Loz whispered against him. "I miss him."

"So do I," the admission was soft as Yazoo said it, but Loz knew it was true.

It hurt a little how honest Yazoo's sentiment was, in fact, but Loz tried to fend off the jealousy. It was misplaced and mistimed. He didn't have the time to be jealous of Kadaj for always having been so important, even now when they hadn't seen him in so long.

As suddenly as a blink, he was ripped from his brother's arms and cast aside. He tumbled to a halt, gasping and struggling to his feet. He lifted his eyes quickly, looking about himself as quickly as he could, trying to locate Yazoo. He found him when he looked up. His brothers arms and legs were stretched out where he was hanging in midair, being pulled to his sides. Loz could hear him gasping for breath as he was held there.

"No," He whispered, staring up at his brother and scrambling to his feet. "No, let him go!"

"Aerith, stop this!" Mama Strife yelled as he ran towards her and the woman whose hand was outstretched towards Yazoo, fingers clawed viciously. "They're only boys! You can't-"

Aerith's other hand lifted, as Lillian spoke, and she slashed downwards with it. Lillian shot backwards as though she'd been slammed into by a car. Loz cried out, skidding to a halt as he watched the kind blonde woman tumble across the ground before coming to rest in an unmoving heap.

"What did you-" He broke off, turning to Aerith. He could feel tears welling in his eyes as he stared at her. "What did you do! I don't understand! You're her friend!"

"Silence," Aerith said coldly, turning her gaze past him without pause and upwards to his brother.

Loz glanced up as well, and instantly his stomach twisted. Yazoo's face was contorted in fear and pain. He was obviously struggling against his bonds, but with little success. Aerith spread her fingers slowly, and as she did Loz could see Yazoo's hands twitch and the sleeves of his jacket pull outwards. Yazoo threw his head back, letting out a yell of pain as his arms and legs were spread further still. She was tearing him apart.

Loz sprinted towards her, staying quiet though he wanted to scream, and tackled her. It was like slamming into a stone wall. She moved not an inch, and instead he found himself in an awkward almost hug, with newly deepened bruises on his ribs. He wheezed softly, fingers clenching automatically in her dress as he sagged a little. Before he could process what had just happened, he was dragged away from her relentlessly. Her power lifted him upwards at a nauseating speed. She stopped him across from Yazoo, and he felt his arms and legs spread against his will.

Then she started using her force to pull on them in earnest, clamping down solidly on his arms and starting to inch by inch force them further and further apart. His stomach clenched in fear, and he let out a howl of fear and pain, eyes flying open. All that awaited him was the sight of his brother, slowly dying in the same way, his arms already disjointed and one of his legs unnaturally twisted. The sight only deepened the sense of horror crashing down around Loz. They were both dead. They couldn't fight, they were alone, and they were going to die, here and now, and it would probably make Mama Strife cry.

And then movement caught Loz's tear-filled eye, and he fixed his gaze below them. He'd forgotten a very important element.

Aerith's attention shifted, and the grip holding Loz broke for a second time. He fell in a heap on the ground, gasping and curling in on himself, trembling in fear. He needed to get to Yazoo, but he couldn't move. His legs were stone and his heart was burning. He couldn't even turn his head to look. Couldn't stand looking over at Sephiroth, who would no doubt fail, and get himself killed as well.

"You?" Aerith's voice both spoke and whispered in all of its horrible glory. "You are the shadow?"

There was no reply, of course. Loz closed his eyes tight and covered his head, whimpering. He could hear soft moaning sounds in his brother's voice. They seemed to come from far away.

'I have to go,' Loz thought to himself. 'I have to go to him before it's too late. I have to say goodbye one more time. I haven't said everything. I haven't said enough.'

"Monster," Aerith's voice said darkly. "I should have known you were there. I should have corrected this a very long time ago. It is obvious there was no hope from the start. There never is where you are involved."

"Stop it," Loz whispered to the ground, hands clenching impotently in the sandy soil. There was grass seeping up from between his fingers as the landscape changed at the very presence of a being so powerful as Aerith. "Stop it. Someone help. Anyone. Please..."

"Lillian!" called a deep voice that was achingly familiar in the parts of him that were Sephiroth, and that filled him with a memory of discomfort and fear.

Loz forced his head up in time to see Angeal step out of the forest. His heart clenched at the sight of the mountainous man. He wanted desperately to believe that he would be their salvation, but he doubted it. He deeply doubted it.

Angeal didn't so much as pause at the edge of the clearing. He ignored everyone but the fallen mother lying prone on the ground. He strode over to her swiftly, crouching at her side. Loz shuddered at the sight, fingers clenching in the growing grass underneath him. Angeal's boot was almost as big as Mama Strife's whole forearm.

"Aerith, what did you do?" he asked sharply and abruptly, turning to her without leaving Lillian's side. "She's hurt! Is this your idea of-"

Angeal broke off, staring fixedly somewhere behind Loz. He shifted slightly on the grass and followed the look, frightened to the very core by the thought of something imposing enough to silence even the powerful and honor-bound man. What he saw did not strike fear into his heart, but filled him with a quiet flare of hope.

Sephiroth was standing across from Aerith, his eye unmoving from the woman. He was standing tall, hair flowing behind him in the wind that Aerith seemed to spawn simply by existing. It didn't seem to matter that he was lacking his trademark coat and his sword. In that moment, he looked more like a god than Jenova's perfect copy ever had. He did not look at Angeal, though Loz knew he wanted to, but stepped forward slowly, until he was closer to Aerith than either Loz or Yazoo was, silently daring her attack on him.

"What-" Angeal whispered, shifting automatically in front of Lillian, "the hell?"

Aerith's gaze flickered. Her eyes moved back and forth between the unexpected appearance of Sephiroth, and the apparently surprising arrival of Angeal. Finally, she seemed to make the choice she'd been silently considering since both of them announced their presences. She lifted a hand to Sephiroth and clenched it. Whatever had happened to Loz and Yazoo, however, did not happen to Sephiroth. He jerked at the contact, and dropped to one knee, but held strong otherwise. He bowed his head just for a moment, catching a breath, then lifted his eyes once more to stare at her.

Aerith stared back, surprised, and clenched her hand a little harder. Loz's chest ached when he saw Sephiroth grimace, but the man still stayed in place, not flying into the air, or being crushed, or seeming to be in any danger at all. As Loz watched him, Sephiroth's eye flickered over towards him, filled with silent meaning. Loz looked down to his hand, and found it forming a 'Y.' He needed no further prompting. With Aerith distracted, he shifted slowly over towards his brother, hoping Sephiroth's presence between the woman and himself would afford him some protection.

"Stay down," Aerith hissed to Sephiroth before turning her gaze to Angeal, fury tinting her words still. "What are you doing here? I told you to stay with him."

"He's recovering, Aerith," Angeal argued, shaking his head fiercely, one hand resting on Lillian's shoulder. "He told me to come. You have to calm down. I know you're angry, but this is taking it too far. They're not the ones who-"

"If you find out an animal has a hereditary disease that causes madness," Aerith's twisted voice interrupted, "how long do you allow its offspring to continue existing? The symptoms have appeared, damage has been done—how many more lives am I supposed to allow them to destroy before I am justified in your eyes?"

"Yaz," Loz whispered, reaching his shivering brother.

Yazoo didn't respond, staring at the three adults, and holding back whimpers of pain. Loz shifted as close as he could, and did his best to gather his big brother up without hurting him. He managed to drag Yazoo halfway into his lap, and curled around him protectively. He hoped he wasn't imagining that it helped his shivering settle.

"Aerith-" Angeal was arguing, brows twisting.

"You don't even like them," she scolded darkly, hand clenching as Sephiroth started to rise, driving him back to his knees. "And now we know they've been traveling with this thing."

"What is he?" Angeal asked softly, turning to Sephiroth at last, his eyes fixing on him. Loz could see that he was wavering at the sight of his old friend, but couldn't get his mouth to work to explain it to Angeal. He was too afraid to draw Aerith's attention to him and Yazoo again.

Sephiroth, of course, did not speak. He stared at Aerith fixedly, not allowing his attention to waver. The look he was giving her was almost like a challenge—like he was daring her to try and rip him apart. Loz shuddered, wondering how he could be unafraid. Then he glanced at Sephiroth's stump of an arm, and realized that he'd already been torn apart thank to a powerful woman. Compared to Jenova, Aerith couldn't be too intimidating.

"Regardless," Angeal said slowly when neither Aerith nor Sephiroth answered him "they're children. Killing them is wrong."

"If you get in the way, I'll kill you too," Aerith warned darkly. "I'm relatively certain you are not too damaged to return."

Surprise flared in Angeal's eyes, and he returned his gaze to her, obviously struggling for something to say. His eyes flicked over to Loz and Yazoo where they were huddled together, and Loz did his best to give him a pleading look.

"Hey," a voice called from behind the entire standoff. "How's a guy supposed to sleep when the rest of you are yelling at each other, huh?"

Every single person gathered there looked towards that voice. It was impossible not to. Even with a raspy edge, it was undeniably charismatic. Zack was stumbling a little as he wandered out of the forest, his head hung wearily, but an undeniable smile on his lips. It wasn't an honest smile, exactly, but more the sort of grin he faced danger and sorrow with. Aerith's hand dropped, and the wind around her dissipated like a dying tornado. Sephiroth sagged forward, bracing himself on his good hand as her power released him.

"Zack?" She whispered, her voice soft and normal once more. "What are you-"

Zack stumbled, grimacing, and Angeal was at his side in an instant, bracing him carefully. The puppy leaned gratefully against him, lifting his head wearily to give him a grin. There was an ugly scar circling his neck.

"I thought you said you'd stay put," Angeal scolded.

"Sorry," Zack said with a shrug. "I guess I still have some trust issues to work on with you. Aerith? Are you going to come say hi?"

He extended his hand to her. She hesitated, watching him, then turned away to stare at Loz and Yazoo. Loz shrank, tightening his hold on Yazoo, feeling the shivering return. His big brother shifted a little, grabbing Loz back, anchoring them together.

"I can't just forgive," Aerith said softly, staring at them. "Not this time."

"They're not the ones that killed me," Zack said softly. His eyes briefly flickered to the kneeling Sephiroth, but for once the puppy did not let himself get distracted. "I know they did some bad things, but they've been in an impossible position."

"It's still gone on too long." she whispered. "Something has to change."

"Not-" Yazoo breathed from Loz's arms, gaining Aerith's attention, as well as Angeal and Zack's. "Not Loz. He played by the rules. It was my fault. Whatever it is you're mad about, it was my fault."

"No!" Loz argued loudly, grabbing his brother. "Yazoo's hard to understand, but he just wants to keep me safe! It's not fair! Why aren't you being mean to all those people who hurt us?"

"He's got a point," Zack said softly from Angeal's side. "This place—it's not exactly a best-of-the-best. Even we aren't perfect, Aer. If we were, you wouldn't have hurt Lillian to get what you wanted just now."

"Oh Goddess," Aerith breathed, looking over to the blonde woman who was picking herself up slowly and stiffly.

"I know you're angry," Zack said softly, "I'm a little pissed too, I admit. But Kadaj is the one who hurt me. We can't just take it out on anyone related to him."

"I-" Aerith started softly, lowering her beautiful bright-green eyes to the grass.

When her head lifted again, it was slowly and with a regal motion that did not belong to the sweet slum-girl Zack had fallen in love with and Sephiroth had killed.

"Very well," she decreed, her voice split once more. "Then the eldest brother shall fetch me the youngest. When he is punished for his betrayal, I shall forgive the spares."

Loz felt Yazoo's breath stall in his chest. His own eyes widened, staring at Aerith fixedly. The youngest—he didn't get the feeling she was referring to him. Which left...

Aerith stumbled, letting out a shaking breath and lifting a hand to her head. When she opened her eyes once more, they were only hers yet again. They shone softly as her brows twisted, and she parted her lips, as though to argue.

"The Goddess's words," Zack muttered softly. "Guess we don't have a choice. Eldest of you's going to have to go-" he paused, looking at Sephiroth, murmuring, "I guess that's you, whoever you are. I knew Sephiroth tried to make more than the three of them, but I've never seen a remnant who looked quite... as much like him..."

"No," Loz cried, shaking his head and clinging to Yazoo, desperate to make Zack understand who this man was kneeling before him was. "He's not a-"

Sephiroth cast him a look that stopped him mid sentence. His intact hand moved, slowly, and Loz read it carefully, brows twisting with every letter.

"Better he not know," Loz translated quietly, so that the trembling Yazoo would understand the words.

Sephiroth started to rise, slowly. He did not do so in the same way he'd stood before, but with a resigned grace, his head lowered, and his eye averted from Zack and Angeal. Loz got the distinct impression that the man was not expecting to return. At least not in one piece. 'Better he not know,' he'd said. Loz wondered if it was just in order to keep Zack from knowing that his decision had killed Sephiroth once and for all.

"No," Yazoo said softly in his lap.

Loz looked down in faint confusion, and let out a yelp as he was abruptly pushed away as his brother rose. Yazoo staggered towards Sephiroth on unsteady legs, shoving the man down to his knees again with a hand firmer than his legs were. The bigger man fell under the touch, and looked up at his copy in surprise.

"He doesn't count," Yazoo insisted fiercely. "He's incomplete. Not a real remnant at all. You can see that clearly. Besides, he wasn't involved in what happened on the planet's surface. If you want the oldest, then I should go! I know Kadaj best—I can make him come!"

"Yazoo!" Loz objected loudly. His brother didn't even twitch. Neither did anyone else. Loz lifted a hand to his throat, trying to call out again. No sound left him.

"You stay," the deep female voice he'd learned to associate with the Goddess spoke into his ear, "And are silent. Your brother will go."

Loz's eyes widened, tears spilling down his cheeks, but there was an inevitability in her voice. Like she was proclaiming something that had already happened.

"Can I say bye?" he asked softly, trembling in her arms. "We never get to say bye when things like this happen. Sephiroth never did either. Please?"

There was no reply, but when Loz lifted his teary eyes, it was to find Yazoo walking over to him, slowly and with a bad limp on his injured leg. When his big brother knelt in front of him and extended shaking hands, Loz found he could move again. He pressed himself against Yazoo's slightly lumpy chest, crying without shame, feeling the scars under his cheek move as his big brother breathed in and out slowly.

"It will be all right," Yazoo whispered softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. "You stay here with Sephiroth. I'll bring Kadaj back."

"But they'll kill him," Loz whispered softly in argument.

"If I don't, they'll kill you," his big brother whispered, tightening his grip on Loz almost fiercely. "I can't let that happen. I'll figure something out. I promise. Just stay safe until I come back."

"Be careful," Loz pleaded against the torn remains Yazoo's leather jacket.

"Always," Yazoo said softly.

"Yazoo?" Aerith's voice was less distant—it sounded honestly a little sad. "I have to send you now."

Loz tightened his grip, but his brother's slender hands wove into his and detached his hold gently. He pulled back from the hug, ducking his head just a little bit and squeezing his fingers in his own warm hands. For a long moment, they locked gazes, and Loz tried to memorize the sight of Yazoo's mismatched gaze.

"Goodbye," Yazoo whispered softly to his brother, releasing his hands and rising. He turned to walk back towards Aerith, and a swirling mist of green tendrils, out of which red fall leaves were blowing. His head was held high and his back was straight.

"Good-" Loz choked halfway through the word, unable to finish it.

Loz watched Yazoo vanish into the swirl of leaves and power, having once again failed to say goodbye to the person he loved most in the world.


	32. Chapter 32

Her fingernails had blood underneath them again, and she sighed in distaste at the sight. Useful though her borrowed form was, it did get messy so quickly at times. She picked at her bloodied nails restlessly, seated on the chair she used as a throne, and frowned to herself quietly. Her body was familiar to her by now, but she was still unaccustomed to its wants. Not so strange or difficult as possessing Sephiroth's living body had been—she did not have to eat or relieve herself, as she once had—but difficult none the less. It was less the body's needs and more its desires that annoyed her. That was why she had hoped to keep the pretty brother here.

It had been nice, having a toy again. She had no use for the puppet, unlike so many of her others, and so had not needed to worry about preserving him. It had been such fun leeching the life out of his eyes. The very thought of him awoke pieces of her form that still entertained and bewildered her. Sexual desire was not something she had ever experienced while in her own form. At least not that she remembered. It had been a very long time since then. First taking the female form of the Ancient, and then the male form of her son, it was sometimes difficult for her to remember what she had been before she was confined to the mere flesh of mortals.

She inhaled deeply as a rush of pleasure and power poured through her, drawing her mind off of her confinement. She shifted, smiling, and lifted her hand, turning it palm outwards to inspect her now-clean fingernails. Her new conduit for power was proving much more valuable than her last. Her good son was so easily bent and manipulated. He was immeasurably preferable when compared to his stubborn original. She should have kept him all along. He willingly tore himself apart for her, and submitted so sweetly to her torture, so long as it came with a kind word and a loving pat on his cheek. Even now that she was done with him, the power still flowed unabated towards her from his injuries. He never tried to stop the flow of power—not since the very first time, when in his panic he'd tried to cut himself off from her.

She hadn't allowed it, of course. His mind was malleable. All she had to do was tighten her grip on it, and he'd become pliant as clay in her hands. Sometimes she would even have him hurt himself for her. The power was more potent still when it was given so willingly. She was unsure what her son was doing at that moment in the belly of her mansion that allowed her such pleasure as this, but she smiled as she rode the waves of enjoyment, feeling her borrowed half-soul strengthen with each beat of Kadaj's dead heart.

"Yes, my son," she whispered, strengthening the bond between them so that he could hear her words. "That is my good boy."

"It hurts," his mental voice whispered.

His mind's voice had grown fainter each day he stayed in her mansion, but she cared not. Her intent was to milk the strength from him after all. Slowly enough to get every drop, of course, but it made no difference to her if he faded away in the process. So long as enough of him remained for his fragmented soul to continue its work as a power cell for her.

"I know," she purred. "What a good son you are to your mother. Would you like me to come down and pet your hair while you heal?"

"Yes, mother," the soft, strained voice replied.

"Then I will be down shortly," she cut off the connection, chuckling to herself and shaking her head.

She'd pet his hair, all right. And dig her fingers into the cuts she'd left on his arms and chest, and tickle the bones within. She'd watch him squirm and stroke his precious head, and he'd thank her for it. It was the most delicious of arrangements. Eventually, she knew, she would give in to her borrowed body's desire for sex, and take that out on her son as well. But not yet. Not yet. She needed to build to it. She needed him to have reached a point where traditional inflictions of pain no longer had any effect. Then she'd rip him apart from the inside.

"Yes," she whispered to herself, chuckling nastily in Sephiroth's voice as she walked slowly towards her slowly dying boy. "That will make him squirm for mother again."

The mansion was smaller now than she'd made it for the visit of her two sons—built once again the same way it truly had been in the real world. It had not been by choice that she'd made it smaller once again, but while she had been distracted by those two Kadaj had done her serious damage on the Goddess's command. Her lessened powers had demanded that she make her domain smaller once more.

However, at this moment she was glad she had done so. It was a simple matter to navigate the shorter distances, and it meant less time between her and her pets. She descended the spiral staircase into what had once been the library. Of course, she had remade it as her personal torture room. She had more need of Mako tubes and knives than books.

Her son lay limp where she'd left him. His breaths were hollow and ragged. She smiled to herself, walking across the room to him slowly, letting Sephiroth's heels click on the floor, and vicariously feeling her youngest's heartbeat pick up in excitement and fear.

"Mother," he whispered, his breath no more than a sigh in the still air.

She smiled, stepping through the pool of blood beside the metal table he lay upon, and put her hand on his head. His once luminous eyes fluttered open at the touch, lifting to her with the awe and adoration she had instilled in him through hours of furious mental battles orchestrated by Aerith. The fool girl had never known that the struggles she'd sent Kadaj into over and over had only made it easier for Jenova to worm her way inside him.

"My pet," she purred. "You are tired."

"Yes, mother." He replied blankly. He never argued. He knew better by now.

"And you are hurting?" She asked, stroking away the trail of blood that led down from his nose and lips, tracking heavily over his ashen face. "Do you regret helping your mother?"

"Never," he rasped, though it was followed by a hollow cough, which only sent more blood down his cheek.

"You are such a good son," she praised, stroking her hand slowly through his hair. "My dearest, best son."

A weak smile adorned his soft lips. He inhaled, as though to say something, but broke off in a pained, broken groan as with her free hand she wormed a finger inside the deep cut she'd laid into his bicep. She smiled down at him, still stroking his hair as she felt his pain strengthen her deeper still. It was unwise, perhaps, to push him so hard in one day, but even if he died, there was still enough left of him to revive. And besides that, he was her son. She could treat him as she wanted.

"Mother?" he whispered airily, his voice quavering and jolting as she worked another finger inside of the bloody gash, "When do I get my brothers?"

"We've talked about this, my love," Jenova whispered to her son, stroking one hand over his hair and two fingers over the bone they were now touching after worming their way inside his arm. "You have all the brothers and sisters you could want right here."

"They never talk," Kadaj complained wearily. "They just float in the stigma. They stare at me. I can feel their eyes accusing me-"

"Silence," Jenova said sharply, removing her hand from his hair to slap him across the face. "You dare question your mother?"

"No!" Kadaj gasped quickly, his eyes flickering open again to stare up at her, wide and terrified. "No, mother, I would never question you! I'm only-"

"You are spoiled," she said darkly, shoving another finger inside the cut that had been barely long enough to accommodate two. "And you are selfish. You say that you are here for me, and yet you constantly think of those who wish me dead.

"No," he cried beneath her, one of his hands lifting on instinct to push at her wrist, struggling against the painful violation of his wound.

"I do not like to punish you, my son," she said darkly, letting her voice morph fully into Sephiroth's as she spoke. "But since you insist on hurting me, I must hurt you in return."

She removed her fingers from his arm to pace across the room, selecting one of the whips she'd created for herself long ago, when her first victim was still worth breaking apart to fuel herself. She took her time choosing. She could hear Kadaj sobbing on the table behind her, hard enough to make himself gag and cough. His loyalty and love for her were outweighed only by her fear. Her borrowed body smiled at the sounds of his discomfort and misery. She hoped he tried to run. She loved that in a subject.

Her fingers closed around a particularly nasty barbed number, and she smiled to herself as she ran her fingers over the blunt protrusions from the whip. She'd start on the soles of his feet and work her way upwards. 100 lashes to start, and ten more for every protest he voiced during the course of the beating.

She turned back to her son, meeting his wide-eyed gaze and stretching the whip between her hands to let him get a good look at it. A whimpered moan of denial greeted the sight, and she narrowed her eyes, walking over towards him slowly. She touched the whip to his cheek, watching him flinch at the contact.

"I came here to make you feel better," she said sadly. "And all you do is hurt me. I have to punish you now. Do you understand?"

"Yes mother," Kadaj sobbed, his hands clenching into impotent fists.

"I want to take it easy on you," she said sweetly, stroking his face lightly with her whip. "So we'll start with only one hundred. It will go by quickly. But if you object, or raise your voice, I'll have to punish you more. My son must be strong in the face of pain. You understand?"

Kadaj's lips formed a 'yes mother,' but no sound escaped him. He was all but convulsing with sobs. She smiled at his panic and shifted, taking his hand firmly and shifting it to the strap on the table. He wouldn't fight her consciously, she was sure of it, but his body would still try to stop the pain. And fun though writhing was, it was better if he didn't have anywhere to go.

She paused before she set the first buckle in place. Someone was approaching her domain. They were close—almost inside already. They were walking brazenly up to the front door, and she could feel each footstep clearly. It was someone bearing power.

"This will have to wait." She said calmly. "We have a visitor."

Kadaj removed his hand quickly from the unbuckled restraint, staring up at his mother. She pressed the whip into his hands, smirking as he flinched at its touch.

"Hold onto that," she said firmly to him. "While I am attending to business, you will stay put and wait for me, do you understand?"

"Yes mother," he whispered, his fingers curling around the vicious whip.

"You are a good boy," she sighed softly. "And once we have beaten the rebellion out of you, you will be my perfect son."

She felt the mixture of joy and horror that her words brought to him, and only barely restrained herself from laughing. She strode out of the room without so much as a backwards glance, heading back upstairs quickly as she felt her visitor open the doors and step inside. Stepping out onto the balcony overlooking the main hall, she was deeply surprised to discover who her visitor was.

"Well well well," she said in Sephiroth's voice with a dark chuckle. "What do we have here?"

Her willowy son flinched at the voice and lifted his head abruptly. She smiled at the vision of the fear in his eyes, and the quick movement of his chest as he breathed hard. She took her time walking down the steps towards him, and he, in return, moved not an inch as she approached.

"I never expected you to return," she purred as she approached, "And willingly no less! Such a surprise."

"Jenova," he said darkly, his eyes lifting to meet hers dead on. "Skip the shit. You and I both know I'm not here for you."

"Who are you here for then, hm?" she lifted her bloody hand as she spoke, walking forward and trailing the blood-soaked fingers over Yazoo's lips. "Have you come to visit my little puppet?"

"Yes," Yazoo replied, jerking his eyes away from hers to face forward, moving not an inch as he was touched.

She pouted at the lack of reaction. He was obviously panicked, but before he'd been so desperate, and so protective. It had been so enjoyably easy to take advantage of that and break him.

"Very well," she said after a long moment, an idea forming in the back of her mind. "You may come and see him, then."

Yazoo's eyes flicked up to hers again, then jerked back to the far wall. She saw the shiver that worked through him, and smiled at the sight of it. Not so strong as he wanted to appear, then. It was a good front, though, and he was certainly stronger than he had been the last time. It would pose an enjoyable challenge for her. Not a long one, perhaps, but absolutely enjoyable.

She turned abruptly and started walking back towards her youngest. If Yazoo wanted to see him, then see him he would. And, of course, Kadaj would get what he wanted. After a fashion.

Yazoo followed her silently, and she felt no fear turning her back on him. He needed her, after all. He needed what she held, and he would not get it without her. He would not get it at all, of course, but that was for him to discover in his own time.

She led him down into the basement rooms, smiling at his silence. She could hear him breathing—could hear his heart thundering in his chest. He was terrified. Perhaps she'd misjudged the strength of his character. She might keep him after all, for a conduit in his own right. Surely two of her sons could provide her more strength than one alone. Perhaps she could even get them to torture one another. How fun that would be, forcing Kadaj to slice his pretty brother's face to pieces.

She restrained her excitement as she re-entered Kadaj's chamber. He was lying right where she'd left him, still crying quietly to himself, and clutching with both hands the whip she would later use to bruise and tear his flesh.

"Kadaj," She said sweetly, "you have a visitor."

"Brother!" Yazoo cried, brushing past her and running to the little one.

"Yazoo?" Kadaj whispered, still clutching the whip even as the elder remnant dragged him up into a tight hug.

Jenova smiled as she felt the pain Yazoo's hold inflicted on her youngest's injuries. She straightened, trying to make the smile look gentle as Kadaj glanced to her and then back to his brother.

"Monster," Yazoo snarled a moment later, still clinging to his brother as he turned to her with a ferocious snarl. "What have you done to him?"

"Don't call her that!" Kadaj snapped with more strength in his voice that she'd heard in days. "She's our mother!"

The little one lashed out sharply and blindly, only managing to push Yazoo back a bit, but obviously taking him off guard. The eldest child stepped back, staring at his brother as though he'd been replaced by someone Yazoo did not know.

"There now, you see?" she said calmly, striding forward towards both of them. "Your brother is here because he wants to be. Isn't that right, Kadaj?"

"Of course it is," Kadaj answered instantly, still clinging to the whip with a white-knuckled grip. "I love you, mother!"

"She's controlling you," Yazoo interrupted instantly. "You just have to fight her and-"

"And what, Yazoo," she laughed in her host body's rich, dark voice. "You both run away and escape thanks to a lucky shot again? You fight me and defeat me as not even Gaia's mightiest warriors have? I think not."

"We would never fight you, mother!" Kadaj gasped, struggling to sit up in order to reach out for her. "Not ever! We are nothing without you."

"Your brother doesn't think so," she said darkly, slowly circling the table. "He thinks me a beast."

"Kadaj, think of what she's done to you," Yazoo said urgently, clinging to his little brother's arm.

"Your big brother thinks that I am evil," she sighed, shaking her head and running her fingers through Kadaj's hair as she passed his head.

"She's just using you," Yazoo insisted, tugging on his brother, glancing back and forth from him to Jenova and back, obviously desperate to get away from her, but unable to bring himself to release his brother.

"He is only here to take you away from me," Jenova snarled. "And yet you wondered why I did on not want to bring him to you."

"Witch," Yazoo accused, lifting his gaze to glare at her as she stepped up to him. "You only want him because we took away your last toy."

She backhanded him, and smiled at the power she was able to impart to the blow. He flew across the room, cracking a Mako tube where he impacted it, and slid down it slowly with a groan.

"Yaz-" Kadaj broke off in mid word, glancing up at his mother.

"Stay put," she purred to her son. "I will not kill your brother, my pet. You may even keep him. However, he must be put in his place and punished for his disobedience. Just as you will be. Do you understand?"

"Yes mother," Kadaj whispered, staring out of wide eyes over at Yazoo as the elder clone groaned, trying to rise to his feet.

"Stay silent, then," she instructed before turning to her other son.

She stalked forward as he struggled and failed to rise, falling to the ground again, slowly turning his face to look up at her.

"Do you remember how you lost your eyesight?" she asked softly, lifting one of Sephiroth's boots to press it lightly over the side of Yazoo's face.

The boy under her heel shuddered and paled. It was obvious from the look in his good eye that he remembered every moment of being crushed into the ground. He shuddered under her, moving not an inch as he waited for the press.

"Lick," she commanded, shifting her boot to be in front of his mouth instead, "And perhaps I will forgive you. Even give you back the place you were offered before. I have felt much neglected after your ministrations during your last visit."

"Go to hell," Yazoo rasped, his lips rubbing against the bottom of her boot as he spoke, but his words clear and steady.

She smiled, lifted her boot, and kicked him solidly in the mouth, sending a stream of blood down from his lip. She bent, grabbing the front of his shirt as he groaned and coughed after the hit, taking advantage of his dazed pain. She turned him around, pressing his face against the Mako tank and wrenched his arms behind his back, pinning them there with one hand and marching him back over to Kadaj. She bent him double over the table, his chest pressing into Kadaj's legs as she held him there.

"Take his wrists," she instructed her good son. "And hold them steady. Don't let him straighten."

Kadaj swallowed, but handed her the whip with shaking hands in order to follow her instructions. Yazoo groaned, more in despair than pain, as Kadaj held him down with shaking, bloody hands.

"Now you taste what disobedience brings you," she said coldly, uncoiling the whip. "Perhaps I can send an image of you back to those that sent you, to let them know you failed."

"No one sent me," Yazoo grated through his bloodied lips.

"Lies," she commented, and lashed out with her whip, cracking it across his thighs and drawing a snarl of pain from the boy. "Tell your brother who sent you, Yazoo. Tell him why you came to 'save' him."

"No one sent me!" Yazoo insisted fiercely through gritted teeth.

Jenova flicked the whip easily again, striking his knees this time, making them buckle so that all his weight was on the table and his little brother. He wheezed piteously, but Kadaj's hands held him down steadily enough.

"Brother just tell," Kadaj whispered, his voice catching and breaking, his lips leaking blood onto his brother's back as he spoke. "Just tell mother who sent you. You'll feel so much better when you give in."

Jenova hesitated, then smiled as she watched Kadaj. She flicked the whip again, and struck the younger boy, drawing a cry of pain from him as the whip caught him across the cheek, splitting his skin open from his ear to his nose.

"Kadaj!" Yazoo yelled, jerking in his brother's hold. "You bitch! Leave him alone!"

"Mother?" Kadaj whispered, his voice quavering.

"You must still be punished as well," she said calmly and coldly. "I may as well take care of you both at once."

She drew back her arm again, preparing a harder hit. Yazoo squirmed under Kadaj's shaking hands, and jerked as she struck them both, aiming perfectly for Kadaj's hand which held Yazoo's wrist. The whip crack lay a deep welt over Yazoo's forearms and her good son's hand. Kadaj let out a choked sound of pain, but Yazoo just bared his teeth, snarling at her. Better indications by the moment that he was stronger than he had been. It appeared he could bear more pain even than her favored son. She would definitely have to keep him.

"You will apologize to me," she said loftily.

"The hell I will," Yazoo choked through gritted teeth, an edge of a laugh in his voice.

"For every strike that does not lead to you begging my forgiveness, I will add ten to both of your punishments." She said, eyes narrowed. He'd come all this way for his little brother, after all. That meant that she held leverage over him.

"Brother," Kadaj whispered, his luminous eyes filled with tears that he wouldn't let fall. "Brother, please."

She let fly with her whip again, careless with her aim, striking Yazoo's lower back and Kadaj's side. She let a small smile quirk her lips upwards at the jolt both boys gave. The smile left just as quickly as Yazoo started laughing. She stared at him as he shook on the table with restrained laughter, turning to her to grin. There was blood on his teeth.

"You find this entertaining?" She asked wryly, though she found herself slightly unsettled by the smile.

"It is only that I just realized," Yazoo laughed, eyes narrowed almost vindictively, "That we're on the receiving end of a tongue lashing."

She struck out in blind anger, striking both her boys fiercely. When Yazoo only laughed louder, she cast aside her whip, striding forward in fury. She could feel power crackling around her. She shouldn't waste it on such vermin, but she would not be laughed at. She would not be taunted by her own flesh and blood.

"Do you know why she looks like Sephiroth?" Yazoo cried up to his little brother, still laughing wildly in mirth. "Because she ate his tongue when he wouldn't cooperate! His tongue! That's all she is! She talks big, and uses his voice but all she is is a-"

"You," she snarled, grabbed him by the hair and dragging him away from her good son. "Will silence yourself."

"And that's," Yazoo winced as she twisted her grip in his hair, his laughter dying in the face of pain, "That's when he made us! He got one hand free and cut pieces off and made us to help him escape! That's what we were made for, Kadaj, not to serve-"

She slapped her hand over his mouth, dragging him back from the bed, shaking him like a rag doll in her arms. Her youngest son was staring at him, trembling, staying stock still where he'd been. She did not look at him yet. She would have to program him again. Seeds of doubt could always be eliminated so long as one salted the ground quickly after their planting.

"Poisonous lies," She hissed, shaking Yazoo again as he scrambled at her hand with both of his, struggling to bite her. "And they shall be punished."

"Mother, what's he talking about," Kadaj whispered from the slab. "What are you doing to him?"

"Nothing he doesn't deserve," She snarled.

She reached down to grab her whip with one hand before wrapping it tightly around his neck. She released his mouth roughly only to tighten her vicious whip from both ends, cutting off his air in a hollow choke. She grinned, yanking just a little tighter, and his hands scrambled at the coils of leather and studs that were killing him. A little tighter, and she felt the utmost pleasure in the indent she was making in his skin. He was already starting to turn blue.

Calmly, she dragged him by the whip, smiling as he scrambled after her, trying to find a position where he could get a breath. She stopped next to one of her empty tanks, and forced him to the floor, kneeling heavily on his back as she continued choking him to death. He twitched and writhed under her.

"Harder to speak now, isn't it," she hissed, leaning down to speak into his ear. "You'll not tell my son your poison. I'll soak you in my power until you forget how to speak, my son, and then I'll pull you out you only so that you may pleasure your brother as you pleasured me. Over and over, until there's nothing left of you but my puppet and his toy. Tell me what you think of that."

She loosened the whip, only for a moment, and smiled as he wheezed in air, hands spasming, still unable to breathe in as much as he needed, thanks to her weight on his back. He coughed and choked, and she shook her head down at him. It was amusing to her, how easy to break her children were even as spirits. For the first time, she wondered briefly where the little one who had managed to break through to this worthless one beneath her was. She would need to eliminate him. There was something about him that was resistant to her nature, and she did not like that.

"Kadaj," the boy beneath her wheezed.

"Kadaj?" she asked, giving a little, startled laugh. "I give you a chance to speak before I choke you into oblivion and you call out to my good son?"

"Brother," Yazoo rasped, his fists clenching, lifting his foggy eyes upwards towards her "please."

Something in the direction of his eyes made her uneasy. He wasn't looking at her. Granted, one of his eyes was blind, but it still filled her with foreboding. He was looking past her. Despite herself, she glanced back, tightening her grip on the whip again to cut off his air as she did so, just to make sure he didn't try anything.

She met her youngest's eyes, and felt something strike her throat. She stared at him, her lips parting in confusion. Why was he so close? She had told him to stay put. Tears streaked down his face. He must have known she'd be displeased, so why had he-

She glanced down when she tasted iron and felt something slip out from between her borrowed body's lips. The scalpel she'd so recently used to cut open her precious little one was sticking out of her windpipe, her little Kadaj's hand still holding it there. Fury rose in her, and she lifted Sephiroth's eyes to him, snarling silently as she felt her body start to shut down, unable to draw in breath. The burning of borrowed lungs was a distant feeling. She struck him mentally, ignoring the blade and the pain it represented.

Even as her grip loosened on the whip that cut off Yazoo's air, Kadaj's scream gave her satisfaction. She would not die alone. She would not let the boy off so easy. She tore at him, breaking apart his fragile psyche. He was so delicate, for playing at being so strong. Her body slumped, falling away from both her boys, and she felt herself fading.

Not for long, she thought as she dropped, watching Yazoo struggle to rise. Not for long. They had only earned a reprieve. Her revenge would be swift and terrible. She called to the building around her as she felt darkness closing in. She wanted them devoured. She wanted them trapped. She wanted them dead, if it were possible. They would come back, after all, and when they did she would have them.

She watched from dying eyes as Yazoo grabbed the screaming Kadaj's shoulders, shaking him as the building started to crumble around them. She felt her dying body smile at the desperation on his face. Then her body felt nothing more.

She floated free, formless and physically powerless, but she smiled upon her children in rage and amusement. The elder was pulling at Kadaj, trying to urge him into flight, but Kadaj would not run. He broke away from his brother to crawl towards her abandoned body, shaking it like a child and calling out for her. She answered by floating closer, ghosting her fingers through his hair and inside his skull. Though she could not physically impact him, it helped her aim her attack. When she struck him this time, he folded completely, slumping over her body and gasping for breath.

"Kadaj, come on!" Yazoo called in choked voice, grabbing his little brother's arm and dragging him away from her body. "Come on! The mansion is coming down, we have to get out of here!"

"You deserve to die for what you've done," she whispered into Kadaj's ear. "You deserve to die slowly, over and over."

She smiled in pleasure as he repeated her. He was a loyal parrot even as a worthless betrayer. Her smile faded when Yazoo dropped to his knees before his little brother, grasping his face in both of his slim hands.

"Brother," the elder boy whispered, giving him the smallest of shakes. "Please."

"Who sent you?" Kadaj choked, jerking and shivering in the backlash of her power, his trembling hands twisting together before sliding up to tangle in his own hair. "You didn't answer her Who sent you?"

"I-" Yazoo broke off a moment, before pressing his blood-stained lips to his little brother's in a shaking kiss. "Aerith. The goddess. Them. They'll kill Loz if you don't come with me, Kadaj. I need you, brother. Help me just this one more time, and I swear, I will get us all out of this. I will find a way."

"Let him die," Jenova hissed in Kadaj's ear. "Let them both die. Let all my betrayers be doomed by their actions!"

Kadaj gritted his teeth. She frowned, intensifying her pressure on his mind. He closed his eyes tightly, lifting his shaking hands to grip his brother's wrists. Yazoo held still, even as the ceiling above them warped, raining dust down on them both as it started to crumble.

"Say it!" She insisted sharply.

"Take me," Kadaj gasped. "Take me with you!"

Jenova screamed in fury at him, and the ceiling crumbled above them. Yazoo grabbed his brother's arms tightly and ran. This time his sprint through the mansion had direction. She followed them like fury incarnate, howling in betrayal. Where they passed the floor crumbled under their feet and the walls reached for them. And yet, they ran on, just ahead of her wrath. No matter how fiercely she attacked she could get no more than a touch on them as they fled—not even when Kadaj's legs gave out and Yazoo had to drag him onward could she touch them.

When the reached the door, she could chase them no further. Though her fury shook the very ground, they were beyond her reach. She howled in rage, trapped in place until her body awakened again and she could pursue her children. Beyond her reach, as he vanished into the forest, she saw Yazoo turn to look back at her. He smirked in triumph, and was gone.


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

Yazoo

"You're so thin," Yazoo whispered as he walked through the forest, trying to keep his legs steady enough not to jostle Kadaj. "I could carry you for miles and never wear out."

Kadaj said nothing. He shook in Yazoo's arms, one hand clenched in his shirt, the nails short, broken, and bloody. Yazoo just tightened his hold a little. He glanced behind them and slowed, crouching slowly. He was in no hurry to return to the field. They wouldn't kill Loz just yet. And he still didn't have a plan.

He set Kadaj down carefully, not objecting when his little brother simply scooted up to press against him once more, his hand still gripping Yazoo's shirt tightly. He stroked the familiar hair, and tried not to explode in rage towards the monster behind him when he found it slick with grease and hiding crusted blood against Kadaj's scalp. He smoothed the unbrushed locks of hair gently, shushing his little brother quietly, though Kadaj made not a sound.

"You're pretty warm," he whispered to his brother, tilting his head to rest on top of Kadaj's. "How you managed to get a fever here in the life stream is beyond me, little brother. It's alright, though. I'll get you—"

"Yazoo," Kadaj choked, his hand spasming with the choked word, "I killed her. I killed mother!"

"Oh," Yazoo said softly, staring down at the crown of his head before gently pressing a kiss to the greasy hair. "I know you did, little one."

"She's going to hate me," Kadaj moaned, fingers clawing at Yazoo's skin beneath the shirt. "She's going to hate me forever! She's going to wake up and drag me back and it's going to be even worse! Why did you have to come? Why did you have to come here?"

"I couldn't just leave you," Yazoo replied softly, though guilt crawled inside of him at the words. It wasn't entirely true. He hadn't even known what was happening to Kadaj. All he'd known was that he had to save Loz.

"She's going to hate me," Kadaj whispered in despair against Yazoo's chest. "Why did I do that. Why did I have to hurt her like that?"

"Kadaj," Yazoo said softly, wrapping his arms around his little brother. "You saved me."

"I know," the boy replied, lifting his stricken, hazy eyes to stare into Yazoo's. "But why?"

Yazoo repressed a shiver at the words. Kadaj looked honestly confused, as though he couldn't figure out in that moment what worth Yazoo had that would lead him to kill his precious mother. Rather than replying, he simply gave Kadaj's cheek a gentle pet, restraining another comment on how thin his poor bewildered brother was. It was strange. He couldn't recall eating much of anything in this world, but he still felt healthy and fit. Or as healthy and fit as he'd felt since receiving the injury that left his ribs somewhat misshapen and his eye blind.

"I love you," he finally murmured as his brother continued to watch him, awaiting his reply. "And I promise I'll keep you safe."

"No one can keep me safe," Kadaj whispered. "Not from her. No one is safe from her. It's only a matter of time."

"I don't believe that," Yazoo said briskly. "Not for a moment. She's never succeeded."

"And she's also never really been stopped."

"Kadaj, I swear to you, on everything we ever held dear-"  
"I never held anyone but her dear," Kadaj snapped. "Nothing else matters. And now that I've lost her-"

He broke off, groaning and curling in on himself. Yazoo was there to hold him as he shivered, but he wished he'd had someone to hold him as well. He told himself that his brother was just hurting—that his pain was driving him to say things that were untrue—but he wasn't sure whether or not he believed that. It was entirely possible that Kadaj simply had not cared about Loz and himself as they cared about him. And that was a possibility that he did not want to contemplate.

"Why aren't we running?" Kadaj rasped finally after a long moment of silence, his skeletal form limp as he leaned against Yazoo. "If you really can get us away, why aren't we running?"

"Just running won't get us anywhere," Yazoo whispered into his hair. "It'll just get Loz killed, and then Aerith will come for our blood too."

"Aerith," Kadaj whispered, giving a little shiver.

"She said you killed Zack," Yazoo said softly and darkly. "And that she can't forgive you that. She wants to kill you."

"I know," Kadaj whispered, closing his eyes tight and turning to press his face against Yazoo's neck. "I know. Everyone wants me gone."

"Not me," Yazoo said, stroking Kadaj's hair back. "And not Loz. I have an idea, brother. It's not the best plan, and I can't promise it will work, but it stands a chance."

"Tell me," Kadaj whispered against his shoulder, starting to shake as exhaustion gave way to fear and anxiety.

"The only thing Jenova will always hate more than us is Aerith," Yazoo answered softly, still petting his brother's hair, slowly and automatically. "And the only thing that might distract Aerith from us is-"

"Mother," Kadaj finished softly. "But it won't work. Aerith isn't strong enough to beat mother. If she were, she wouldn't have needed me. And if she loses, then mother..."

"I know," Yazoo whispered, squeezing Kadaj's fragile, bloody form.

"And even if Aerith wins, she'll be even madder at us," Kadaj choked.

"That's why I'm going to help her," Yazoo whispered. "And I know Loz will too, if he can. She's soft. I could see it in her even as she discussed killing you. She doesn't actually want to. So if we side with her, we stand a chance."

"You left me out," Kadaj said. "It's not just you and Loz fighting."

"Yes," Yazoo said firmly. "It is. There is another version of Sephiroth—a truer version—where we are going. You will stay with him."

"Who the hell are you to order me around?" Kadaj snarled.

Yazoo could feel Kadaj's teeth against his neck as he spoke, an added threat to the words. His bony, bloody hands tightened like claws in Yazoo's shirt.

"I am your worried brother," Yazoo soothed quietly, unable to help but be unimpressed by Kadaj's ferocity. It was almost endearing more than threatening. "You've been hurt enough, Kadaj. You're injured. Let me protect you."

Kadaj gave a heavy shudder in Yazoo's arms. It was different from the shivers he'd been giving before. It seemed to start at his bare feet and reverberate through him, as though something were shaking him violently from within. Yazoo drew him closer still, nuzzling against his hair and clenching his jaw.

"She's awake," Kadaj whispered, his voice as soft as the wind in the dead leaves around them.

"Then it's time," Yazoo whispered. "Hold tight to me, Kadaj. And please, trust me to fix this."

"It's my mess," Kadaj whispered.

"I'm your brother," Yazoo murmured in reply as he stood stiffly, cradling Kadaj close to his chest. "Your problems, your messes, your hurts—I want to share them all with you. Please. Allow me to help."

The ground shook beneath their feet, and Yazoo looked behind himself. There was a plume of dust stretching up into the sky where the mansion had been standing not long ago, left behind as the building finally crumbled into itself. For just a moment, Yazoo could have sworn that the dust had formed into a giant black wing, arching terribly upwards towards the sky. Then he tightened his grip on his little brother and turned away. He had to force himself to walk away from the danger rather than sprinting wildly.

"Aerith," he said softly into the life stream as he walked. "I have him."

In response to his words, one of the windy, spinning distortions in the life stream that had sent him to the mansion in the first place opened. He stood before it, feeling the wind tug at him and Kadaj, drawing their hair gently forwards to wave delicately in the breeze. Yazoo tightened his grip on his terrified brother, feeling the thin layer of muscle he still had from their days together twitch and jump under his skin in anxiety. He didn't bother soothing him, and held still, watching the portal and waiting.

He heard footsteps before anything else—heavy and unguarded. Then came the laughter—the crazed, horrible, low laughter that shuddered through him like electricity. Kadaj gave a ragged sob, and his thin hands started to claw at his own hair. Yazoo didn't waste the energy trying to fight him back under control. He measured his breathing carefully, and kept watching the portal. He listened to the crazed almost-Sephiroth's laughter grow closer behind them, and tightened his grip on Kadaj. He waited until he could see the shadow of the monster that called itself his mother stretching out next to him—plainly visible with the sun at their backs. Then he stepped forward swiftly into the portal, never looking back at who was following him.

He was spit out almost instantly into the grassy field of the goddess's wrath. He heard Loz call out to him, looked up to see him huddled with Lillian Strife and Sephiroth, and ran. He ran as fast as he could, feeling the presence following behind him. He glanced at Aerith and her men out of the corner of his eye, seeing the shock on her face as he was followed. Then he risked a glance back.

The Sephiroth who stepped through the portal was beautiful in his fury. Silver hair whipped around the leather-clad form, and the terrible wing arched upwards from his back as he pushed through the closing portal, snarling in fury. But worst of all was the dark aura of power he was exuding—something entirely not his own. Something which was entirely terrible and Jenova. The ground withered where he stepped, and he lifted his chin, still snarling, to stare at Aerith. Two sets of green eyes met—one the bright color of new leaves, and the other the ugly shade of poison and acid. The power surrounding them both redoubled as they instantly geared up for the fight.

"What have you done?" Aerith cried, her voice dark and terrible—the Goddess's tones and not her own.

"What I had to," Yazoo snarled, backing towards his family away from the two women. "That is what I always do."

"Kadaj, Yazoo!" Loz cried, running over towards them.

Yazoo turned to meet him, crouching and letting the boy throw his arms around both his brothers for the first time in so long. Kadaj jolted in surprise at the hug, shaking his head and staring at Loz.

"What the fuck happened to you?" he rasped, still trembling like a leaf.

"Me? What happened to you?" Loz replied, his voice cracking. "You look horrible!"

Yazoo turned his gaze to Jenova, letting Loz pet Kadaj's face and feather kisses over his brow. Jenova was smiling, coldly and firmly. Her wing was beating slowly in agitation, and he could see more of the feathery appendages slowly growing from her. She was strong—Stronger than he'd ever seen her before. Whatever damage he and his brother had done her back in the mansion, it was hardly a scratch on the surface of her power. Kadaj had fueled her well, it seemed.

Aerith was shaking. He could tell even from where he was. If Jenova's rage towards him and his brothers had been less palpable, he would almost have been pleased by the fear her appearance caused in Aerith.

"Seph," Yazoo heard Zack cry as he stared at the crazed mad-woman inhabiting Sephiroth's form.

"Idiot," Yazoo muttered, lifting Kadaj again to walk over to the true Sephiroth and Lillian.

"Is this Kadaj?" Lillian asked softly as Yazoo knelt slowly at her side.

"It is," Yazoo replied with a nod. "Kadaj, Lillian Strife. Be nice."

"Yaz, she's gunna kill us," Loz whispered as he moved around swiftly to huddle by Sephiroth's side and pet his dumbfounded little brother's hair. "Why did you-"

"I won't lose either of you," Yazoo said softly and firmly. "Not at any price. And I certainly won't sacrifice one of you for the other. So I am following the only path left open to me."

"Sweetheart," Lillian said softly. "This is not going to turn out well."

"Nothing does," Yazoo said grimly. "May I use your gun, Lillian?"

"Which side are you going to use it for?" the woman asked rather suspiciously, even as she put her hand in the frightened Loz's hair.

"My own," Yazoo said coldly. "Since no one but you is on my side. But for now, Jenova is a greater threat to us. So against her first."

Lillian passed her rifle over without further complaint, and Yazoo forced his tired muscles to accept it. He straightened as he took the gun, shoving aside weariness and stress in favor of focus. Task-orientation worked wonders for him at most times. He lifted the weapon, feeling out the gun, then nodded to himself and turned to Sephiroth.

"I realize you have a great stake in this," he said to the man who was now half-supporting the bewildered, bleary Kadaj. "But if you would watch my brothers, and attempt to defend them, I would be most grateful."

Sephiroth nodded, slowly. Yazoo glanced at the brewing powers of the two superhuman women as Jenova lashed out for the first time and Aerith was forced to defend herself, Zack, and Angeal all at once. He could feel the insurmountable power he was about to walk towards. And he harbored no illusions that he was likely to walk back. With that in mind, he allowed himself to reach out delicate fingers to trace over the empty socket where Sephiroth's eye had once been. The man stiffened, but held still for him. Kadaj made a faint sound of startled disgust, but Loz just gave him a little smile.

"Thank you," Yazoo said after a moment.

"You can't do it alone," Loz said softly.

"I have to try," Yazoo murmured, shaking his head. "I know you are strong against her, Loz, but you are still a child. As you have pointed out more than once yourself. You've done enough fighting."

"It's alright, sweetheart," Lillian murmured, wrapping a motherly arm around Loz's shoulders. "Your big brother knows what he's doing."

"I'll be back," Yazoo whispered, glancing back to Loz. "So just wait for me, you little brat."

"Shut up, you meanie," Loz choked back, tears sliding down his cheeks slowly.

"Don't cry."

"I'm not."

"Idiot."

"Jerk!"

Yazoo just smiled and turned to the already raging battle. He could hear Kadaj murmuring something behind him, but he ignored it for the moment, striding forward purposefully with the rifle held securely in both hands.

Aerith was already starting to falter. Sweat was beading on her forehead, and both of her hands were forward, surrounding herself in light, and parting the tide of darkness that Jenova was throwing off. Her power was barely enough to keep a barrier around herself, Angeal and Zack. The puppy was struggling to get to her from Angeal's hold, but the larger man was wisely holding him back. It was obvious he was still on the edge of death. Yazoo recognized the runnels of green under his skin from his own experience.

He glanced at the stream of dark power pouring around Aerith's light, then took a deep breath and walked through it. It almost bowled him off his feet, and it reeked to high hell, but he came through only slightly singed and a little less well-kempt. Not that he had been particularly primped and polished before hand, after his last encounter with the witch.

He ignored the way Angeal dragged Zack away from him as well, sheltering him with wide hands and strong arms. He also ignored the way Zack called his name, as though surprised and alarmed at his appearance. His business was with Aerith, and he was not in the mood for distractions.

"She's strong, isn't she," he murmured, approaching the struggling woman and leaning in to whisper in her ear. "That's because she's been sucking my little brother dry ever since he ran from you to join her."

"Yazoo," Aerith choked, hatred in her voice.

"She's stronger than you now," Yazoo whispered, eyes narrowing as he gazed at Jenova's slowly approaching form. "Never imagine she's not. You don't stand a shadow of a chance. Alone, she'll either destroy you or drive you off to hide further in the life stream. And then, of course, she'll be free to do as she likes with her new-found strength."

"Bastard," Aerith hissed, eyes cutting to him fiercely. "Why would you do this?"

"You left me no choice," Yazoo whispered, "Just as I have had no choice from the beginning. I cannot let you kill my brothers. However-"

He raised his gun, ignoring the shout of alarm from Zack behind him, and fired a single round straight at Jenova, making her stagger back in alarm. He lowered the weapon, reloading, and smirking slightly at the wince Aerith had given as the gun went off next to her ear.

"I'll fight her with you if you spare them," Yazoo commented calmly. "I can't guarantee we'll win—After all, I have never been as strong as Kadaj or Sephiroth, and now she is most of both of them—but you stand a chance. So what is it going to be, Aerith?"

Aerith looked back, just once, and her power faltered a moment, letting the darkness of Jenova's force bleed through her barrier for a moment. Yazoo watched her glance at his brothers, and then at Zack and Angeal. Then she turned back to Jenova, channeling the life stream's force against her again.

"Do it," she hissed. "If we win, I'll let you all go."

"Deal." Yazoo said coldly, straightening from over her shoulder.

He tensed, rolled his shoulders, and lifted his gun. He saw Jenova's borrowed eyes change, and felt his own narrow in response. He squeezed the trigger, shooting straight for her chest. His shot missed, but not due to his blind eye or his weakness. Jenova split, seemingly straight down the middle, and suddenly, she was two distinct beings.

To the right stood Sephiroth's form, smiling darkly, with Masamune shining in his hand. To the left was Jenova herself, stripped bare of her bodily form, her ghostly, intangible self the same body that had hovered in the mako the night Sephiroth discovered her. Yazoo's eyes narrowed, but he felt a shiver run down his spine as she divided her attention. Aerith, though, let out a breath of relief as the power being pushed against her defenses split in half as Jenova did, making it possible for her to tighten her control and push back against the dark force.

"Yazoo," Zack gasped from behind him. "What are you-"

"Zachary," Yazoo said softly. "I'm sorry for what my brother has done. Stay with Angeal. He will protect you." He glanced back at the two dark-haired men who meant so much to a different version of himself. "And if you get a chance, go and help that other Sephiroth. He has been waiting a long time to see you."

He turned before he could be questioned, and ran forward. He knew what the version of Sephiroth he would face was. It was his originator's tongue and strength, and it had been made for him to fight. Jenova would not leave her battle with Aerith—not fully—but so long as he could fight this piece of her, Aerith stood a chance. He just had to keep the damnable thing distracted long enough for her to win.

"Well?" Sephiroth purred, tilting his head and walking forward slowly. "Are you coming, boy? Or do you wish me to catch up to you first."

"I'm coming," Yazoo said darkly, lifting his gun and walking forward. He could feel the weapon shifting under his hands, altering itself to better fit his grip, and lightening somewhat. He smiled softly. It was good to have the life stream on his side for once, even if it was not for long.

Jenova's Sephiroth ran forward swiftly and smoothly as Yazoo walked past the protection of Aerith's border. Yazoo fired twice and ran, his elegance in battle all but lost since death. He could feel Sephiroth follow, and smiled to himself. The further he was from his brothers while this fight occurred the better.

His smile disappeared when Masamune struck. He could hear the sword's cry half a moment before she struck, and jumped left, hoping to avoid the blade. The sword met his flesh, skewering him by just a half-inch of flesh on his side. He yanked away, tearing his own skin to avoid being caught, and whirled to fire straight at Sephiroth's face. The vision just smiled, tilting his head to the side as the bullet whizzed past without touching him, and continued to advance. Yazoo refused to allow himself to panic, but the analytical, facts-oriented part of him spoke up quietly as he backed up, still firing.

"I'm screwed," it whispered in the back of his mind.

Loz

"Kadaj, hold still!" Loz insisted, catching his hands. "You're hurt, and I can't get a good look at you!"

"You're insane—You're both insane!" Kadaj choked. "We should be running while we have the chance!"

"We're not leavin' him here," Loz insisted firmly, pressing a hand gently to the bloody spot on Kadaj's chest. "He wouldn't leave us."

"You don't know that," Kadaj hissed.

"Yeah, I kinda do," Loz replied with a faint smirk. "He hasn't run out on me yet, and he could'a a million times. Right, Mama?"

"That's right dear," Lillian murmured, petting Loz's hair lightly. Her eyes were distant and distracted, focused on the fight that was just starting across the field. "He loves you very much."

"Yeah," Loz said with a nod, lifting his eyes to look at his middle brother as he lifted and fired Mama Strife's borrowed gun. "Enough to do this..."

"Still," Kadaj hissed wearily, his eyes tight at the corners with pain and despair. "Still! She'll still beat him. He wants us to survive this, right? So we should go now, while we can!"

Sephiroth moved his good hand and placed a single finger over Kadaj's lips, silencing the flow of words instantly. Kadaj stiffened under the touch, and looked for a moment as though he might bite the finger. Then he slid his eyes down to the stump of Sephiroth's other arm, and Loz saw the same flare of understanding that had struck Yazoo and himself. He glanced to the scar over Sephiroth's chest, and knew exactly what Kadaj was feeling. It was a sensation almost like seeing home.

A cry drew all of their eyes, and they instantly looked up from their huddle to the rather distant fight. Zack was obviously itching to join the battle. He was pulling against Angeal's arms, straining against him to run to Aerith or Yazoo's aid. Angeal held him tight and unmoving, protecting him by holding him back as gently as he could. It was a good thing, Loz thought. Zack still looked like he might crumble to pieces at any moment. Aerith strained before them both, channeling the power she had been gifted with for so long towards the monster that Loz himself had once called 'mother.'

Jenova was laughing. It was a voiceless laugh, without Sephiroth's tongue as part of her being, but it was a laugh none the less. She had thrown her head back to cackle over Aerith's meager power. Past her, Loz saw her other half—the part that had split off looking like Sephiroth—stab Yazoo. It was only a little cut compared to some that he'd seen his brother receive of late, but blood gushed. With a sinking feeling in his chest, Loz realized that much though he hated it, Kadaj might be right.

He looked down at the ground, running his fingers over the grass beside Kadaj's shaking body. His brother was scared—Deathly scared. And worse, he already looked as though he might just die at any moment. Loz frowned as something flickered in his vision for a moment. It had seemed, for just a second, as though there were something coiling out of his brother's chest. And then he saw the flicker again, and the sinking feeling redoubled. He placed a hand over his brother's bloody arm, and whispered an apology as he dug his fingers in.

Kadaj let out a shriek of pain and indignation, and the mirage flickered again, only this time Loz could make it out more clearly. It was like a funnel of water, draining something from Kadaj into...

Loz lifted his eyes, following the direction of the twisting substance which seemed to move almost liquidly. It trailed straight to Jenova, sliding into her chest as it left Kadaj.

"Shit," Loz whispered.

"Language," Mama Strife scolded automatically.

"We're gunna die," Loz said blankly. "I think I can curse a little bit."

"You're not going to die," Mama Strife said firmly, gripping Loz's arm abruptly in a hand that was alarmingly strong.

"She's still taking power from Kadaj," Loz said, his eyes tightening at the corners, and feeling his brother twitch under his hands.

A soft noise drew his eyes away from the fight, and he lifted his gaze to Sephiroth, studying his single inscrutable eye. Sephiroth was looking back at him, his gaze calm and flat. Loz took a slow breath, feeling himself calm down just from the very act of eye contact, and something occurred to him.

"You're still alive," he said abruptly, staring at Sephiroth. "She had you for years. Can you do something? Do you have a way to stop her?"

He saw the unease blossom on Sephiroth's face, starting with a slight tension in his brows, then progressing to slightly pursed lips, pulled down in a tight half frown. His fingers twitched, and he shifted, cracking his neck. Loz held his gaze, waiting for his verdict, his brows twisting upwards in a pleading expression. It was at that moment he knew that Kadaj was really in trouble. The brother he knew and loved would never have allowed himself to be talked over, but Kadaj just shivered and gasped for air between them, his hand finding purchase on Loz and clinging there as Jenova continued to draw her strength from him.

"Please," Loz whispered. "Please, Sephiroth."

Sephiroth's arm shifted, and he slowly lay the stump of his arm over Kadaj's chest. His eye fell closed slowly, still watching Loz until his own eyelid obscured his view. Then he took in a deep breath and let it out again, the breathing the loudest sound he ever seemed to make.

Kadaj stilled almost instantly in Loz's arms, his eyes snapping open and going wide. He didn't look at Sephiroth, but stayed utterly still, releasing the hand in Loz's clothes to grip Sephiroth's arm tightly, not trying to push it away, but holding it closer still.

"Kadaj?" Loz questioned softly, worried despite the fact that he had asked for this.

"I see Banora," Kadaj whispered. "And Genesis and Angeal. It's beautiful, Loz. You should see it. You should feel it..."

"Good man," Mama Strife said before Loz could reply, addressing Sephiroth rather than Kadaj. "Putting him somewhere warmer where he can hide from her."

Sephiroth gave a grave, empty nod, but did not open his eye. His focus was absolute.

Mama Strife stroked Kadaj's hair once more, then smiled warmly at Loz. She patted his hand once, and then covered his skinny brother's eyes with her palm. Her warm smile didn't fade, but it was accompanied suddenly by a slight twist of her brows, and Loz watched as the cuts on his brother's face started to inch closed. Mama Strife didn't have Aerith's healing power by any stretch of the imagination, but she had healed his injured arm. He shouldn't have been surprised to find it wasn't all antiseptic and bandages.

It wasn't until that moment that Loz realized something that he couldn't help but think of as horrible. He stared at the three people next to him, then turned his gaze to Aerith, struggling mightily to protect Zack, who was being protected from himself by Angeal. And then he turned to watch his brother, jumping and dodging gracefully backwards from the onslaught of Jenova's avatar, lifting his borrowed gun to fire only with enough distance to be accurate. His agility was not what it had once been, but he made up for it in utter devotion to his fight—something he'd never carried with him while he was still living.

And the terrible thing of it was that Loz wasn't doing anything. He looked down at his small hands, and stared at them as they shook in fear so deep-seated he could barely even feel it. He clenched his fists, and felt no strength in them. He was a child in the middle of a war, and quite suddenly, he wasn't sure he wanted to be.

Zack

Angeal wouldn't let go. No matter how he pitched and struggled to escape from his arms, the protective hold remained. He could see Aerith straining in front of him. Her shoulders were shaking. She was strong—she was stronger than she had any right to be—but even her strength was failing. There had been so much for her to do. He could still feel her hands on him, channeling everything she had into trying to save his soul from shattering after Kadaj's betrayal. She shouldn't have worried so much. He'd survived enough betrayals in his real life to come through one more unscathed.

But he had to admit to himself that it had been close. While he was lying on that grass, decapitated but not yet truly dead, he had understood for the first time why Angeal had forced Zack to kill him. There were some things one just couldn't live with. It wasn't until he woke long enough to see Aerith breaking that Zack knew he had to stay.

And now Angeal wouldn't let him go. He could see her failing against the unrelenting strength of Jenova, and he knew why she couldn't hold out. Jenova protected no one but herself. Aerith was protecting him. She wasn't fighting Jenova, she was defending him. Angeal still wouldn't let go, even though Zack could still hear his own voice pleading for release. It had become automatic already. He could plead and think at the same time. If Angeal showed any signs of relenting, then Zack would end his internal monologue.

No, unless Angeal let him go, there was nothing he could do for Aerith. Even if Angeal did release him, he was aware that it was a long shot. He was strong—possibly the strongest soldier who ever lived, barring Sephiroth. Even Sephiroth might not have been as strong by the time the hundreds of Shinra troopers gunned him down. It had taken a lot of them to kill him.

A yell caught his eye, and he switched his gaze behind Aerith—past the parody of a woman floating in the air, laughing a silent laugh. Yazoo was dancing away from Masamune, light as a feather and as agile as a dream. It wasn't enough. He was bleeding badly, and a section of his hair had been sliced lopsidedly from a stray swing of the blade. The gun he was holding had already had the top inch of the barrel hacked off. It was a decent enough shotgun, but it just wasn't good enough to-

"Oh," Zack said, suddenly halting his pleas and his struggles in Angeal's arms.

"Zack?" the man asked, worry clear in his voice. His arms tightened just a little, more in a hug than a restraint.

"I know what I can do, 'Geal," Zack said, sending his once-mentor the biggest smile he had available to him with his throat still throbbing in pain and his girlfriend starting to falter before him. "Won't even put me in danger. Promise."

"Zack-"

"No, really, it's okay," Zack promised, clapping his hands before himself and rubbing them together. "It's something I've done before. Just keep me safe here while I'm over there, okay?"

"While you're over—What are you talking about?" his friend rumbled, holding him a little more closely, shifting to guard him as a streak of darkness almost broke through Aerith's barrier.

Zack just smiled, warmly and softly. He'd be safe like this. He glanced over at the other huddle of people—unprotected, unlike himself, and found Loz watching him with eerily perceptive attention. His eyes were so much like Sephiroth's.

'Just wait,' Zack mouthed to him over Angeal's shoulder. 'Protect them.'

Then he closed his eyes and focused on a link he'd never quite closed off. The tug of the ground touched him instantly, pulling him downwards out of his aching, injured body. He was floating all at once, and smiled to himself at the sensation. He preferred to be tactile—to be able to touch those around him—but this was nice in its own way too.

His feet touched down on the streets of Edge, but he hardly felt the contact. People moved all around him, avoiding him unconsciously, but not aware of his presence. He smiled at them as they passed, but he didn't have time for people watching—not today.

He could feel Cloud like an extension of himself—like a rope tied to him and tugging, gently, calling out quietly that he was always open for another visit—always open for another chance to say hello, even if it meant another goodbye. Zack smiled, but turned away. Cloud wasn't the only connection he'd refused to let go of.

The tug he was searching for was fainter, and a part of him didn't want to follow it. He forced himself to anyway. He moved without a sound, and the world around him, in return, was muffled to his ears. What once would have been all but overwhelming to his Soldier senses was almost disappointingly quiet. He could catch snippets of conversation here or there, but even the buildings an people he could see were blurry. His connection to the real world was nowhere near as strong as it had once been.

He turned down a dark ally, and smiled at how well it seemed to fit. It was ugly, and dank, and probably would have smelled if he could have smelled it, but at the end of the ally was a little, semi-elegant pub.

"The Midas Touch," Zack snickered, shaking his head. "That's about right. All grunge on the outside, and gold hidden way in the back."

He walked straight though the door, following the familiar tug that had once been friendship. The shock of red hair he was looking for was instantly visible up at the bar. His target was not as drunk as he was pretending to be, but he looked like he wished he was. Turks weren't allowed to get smashed, after all. They were just allowed to get tipsy and pretend they were smashed.

Zack sauntered over and wiggled his ghost-fingers through the hair of the person sitting on the next stool until they moved. Then he took the seat for himself.

The moment he sat down, green eyes were on him, even though he hadn't made himself known intentionally. He grinned at the sharp suspicion in the gaze, and reached out to lay a hand on the shoulder of the man sitting next to him. The bar faded away around them, replaced by an old Shinra pub they'd once gone drinking in together.

"Hey, Reno," Zack said warmly, grinning at the open disbelief and hint of fear in Reno's eyes. "Sorry to bother you. Got a favor to ask."

"Son of a bitch," Reno said slowly, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and placing it between his lips, never removing his gaze from Zack. "If I'm dead, I want a refund, yo."


	34. The Final Battle

Reno's Trophy Room was the stuff of legend. It was used by teachers as a nightmarish example of what, exactly, separated Turks and Soldiers. Some of Zack's comrades had used it as a scary campfire story for cadets. More than once, people had reported threatening enemies with inclusion in the room. But one thing always held through in all of the stories. No one ever doubted that it was real.

Despite that, sliding inside after Reno was like walking into some hellish story for Zack. He'd considered himself the redhead's friend, and he supposed that being brought to this place which everyone knew of and no one had seen cemented that. But looking around the walls, he wasn't so sure he had any idea exactly who he was friends with.

There were weapons lining the shelves. Some of them were marked, and some of them had been left unlabeled. Many of the blades had rusted blood on them. Zack wondered, quietly, whose blood it was.

"How many are there?" he asked softly, walking inside.

"Oh, thousands," Reno replied with a fond shrug. "I had to start taking smaller stuff from the small-fries. I have about ten boxes of rings, necklaces, ties, shoe laces—that sort of thing, yo."

"They're all people you've killed?" Zack asked quietly, stepping slowly into the first row of weaponry, studying a particularly fine sword and trying to ignore the twisting in his stomach. He didn't even really have a stomach.

"Yup," Reno said with significant pride. "You still so sure you wanna be here, yo?"

"I'm not that easy to scare off," Zack said with a shake of his head. "Where are they?"

"Row five," Reno said mildly. "Towards the end."

"Do I dare ask what row five is?" Zack asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Bitches who had it coming," Reno said with a half-shrug, leading Zack along his isles of mementos from his victims. "And you gotta admit they had it coming."

"I wasn't going to argue," Zack said with a grin, lifting his hands. He could feel a faint tug in the back of his mind. Things were going downhill back at home. That sort of tug never started up while he was visiting unless Angeal and Aerith were really worried.

"So what's it like being dead?" Reno asked, glancing back at the ghost that was following him. He had changed, Zack thought to himself in surprise, since he was the brash young Turk with his EMR over his shoulder and a constant smirk on his lips.

"Surprisingly stressful," Zack said with a laugh. "But not lonely, that's for sure."

"Heard from Cloud you and th' flower girl have been pretty chummy up there."

"She's my girlfriend, Reno," Zack sighed, rolling his eyes. "Being dead doesn't change that."

"Run across anyone else up there?" The turk's voice had changed, taking on a longing note.

"Haven't seen Cissnei in years," Zack replied, knowing what the young man meant. "Most of the turks take to the hills pretty quickly after dying. She went her own way a long time ago."

"Right," Reno muttered, stopping at the end of his isle. "Just curious."

"Sure," Zack replied, knowing better than that. He'd heard the Turk's howl's of rage when Cissnei was lost to them. After all, he'd been there to help Cissnei up into the lifestream. He'd owed her that, at least.

"There they are," Reno muttered, gesturing to three labeled pieces. "Whatever the hell you want them for."

Zack let out a breath seeing them. Who'd have thought the crazy Turk's hording would come in handy.

"Only one of the guns?" he asked.

"Tseng called the other one," Reno replied, giving a little shrug. "He got shot with it, so he got first pick."

"It'll do," Zack replied, nodding. "One more favor."

"Oh, come on, yo!"

"Hey, you said you owed me," Zack grinned, tilting his head at Reno. "Gunna fall through on me again?"

"Fuck no," Reno muttered. "Just tell me what you want and shoo. Got enough problems with living people."

"Take them to the church," Zack said, letting the tug pull him back towards the lifestream. "I'll meet up with you there one more time and tell you what to do next. Got it, 'yo?'"

She was winning. There was no doubting that. The brief headway Aerith had made when Jenova split in two had stalled out, leaving her once again guarding her friends with all her might. Zack had not moved in long moments. Loz could hear Angeal calling to him.

Yazoo's fight was faring no better. Though at first it had seemed he stood a chance, the battle had devolved, leaving Yazoo dodging endless attacks, battling fatigue, and only now and then managing to squeeze off a shot from Mama Strife's gun. The image of Sephiroth seemed to be having far too much fun chasing him around in circles, attempting to cleave his head from his body.

Beside him, Sephiroth-the real Sephiroth-and Kadaj had not moved an inch. Kadaj's breathing had slowed and evened out the longer Sephiroth's hand had rested over his heart. Their original sat still and quiet, his single eye narrowed in concentration.

Mama Strife had shifted to hold him, and Loz didn't argue the almost painful grip she kept on him. She obviously needed someone to hold onto. And what else was he supposed to do? He was absolutely and truly useless. All he could do was watch, and hope that he could stay out of the way.

And then the image of Sephiroth jumped. It wasn't a physical leap, but something more like an electronic glitch in a projection. At Loz's side, Kadaj convulsed abruptly, his hands clawing in the dirt and his eyes opening wide in a disturbing mixture of fear and rapture. Loz watched his brother, and his chest tightened in fear as he saw the connection between him and Jenova swell despite Sephiroth's efforts. The mute man's intact hand, spelling almost more quickly than Loz could follow.

"He says to close her out," Loz translated briskly, his voice breaking into a squeak from stress.

"She's mother," Kadaj whispered. "I belong to her..."

The copy of Sephiroth jerked again, and before Loz could even begin to realize what was happening, the image split. As the copy rushed Yazoo again, a shadow broke away from him, darting straight for Angeal and Zack.

"Angeal, four o' clock," Yazoo barked as he dodged Masamune once more.

The real Sephiroth gave a visible shiver and closed his mouth slowly. Loz got the feeling that their original had been starting to say the same thing. Loz griped mama strife's arm, and was gripped tight in return.

Angeal dropped Zack and drew his prized Buster sword. He rushed forward to meet the shadow of Kadaj in battle without reservation. Zack lay where he was dropped, limp and unmoving. Zack could still see little streams of green pulsing under his skin, as he hovered on the brink of falling apart. If Angeal hand't been an equal match against Jenova's projection of his little brother, Loz had no doubt that Mama Strife would have run to protect Zack and damn the consequences. Even as it was, she was all but vibrating with the desire to join the fight.

Loz knew he ought to have been worried for Zack, but splitting again had sapped some of Jenova's strength. Yazoo was holding his own again. He glanced to the original Sephiroth only to find the man's gaze already upon him, firm and steady-waiting. The moment Loz was looking, Sephiroth started to sign.

"Mama," Loz said softly. "He wants you to help with Kadaj."

"What?" the blonde woman whispered, her eyes still fixed on Aerith and Zack.

"He says he doesn't have enough safe places in his head to protect Kadaj from her. He thinks you can help." Loz swallowed hard after translating. The omission in Sephiroth's words was obvious. Mama Strife could help his brother. He could not.

"Well," Mama Strife said after a moment. "What's one more flower in my garden."

"What? Loz asked, moving automatically out of her lap to let her shift to Kadaj's side.

"Nothing, dear," She replied, smiling warmly through the stress in her eyes. "Now. What do I do?"

She addressed the words to Sephiroth. Her gaze was as firm and unwavering on him as on anyone else, despite that he'd killed her, despite what he'd done to her son, and despite the maimed features with which he regarded her. Loz translated as Sephiroth signed, but with a heavy heart. He didn't like only being good for translating.

"Hands on his chest, and picture somewhere safe and nice," Loz said quietly and sadly, reaching out to rest one of his small hands on one of Kadaj's legs, rubbing slowly up and down in an attempt at comfort. His twitching, hurting brother didn't seem to notice at all.

"All right," Lillian whispered, closing her eyes.

After a moment of her concentrating, Sephiroth shifted his whole hand to rest atop Lillian's. The effect on Kadaj was instant. He went limp, and caught a deep gasp of air, his eyes falling lightly closed.

Loz looked up to the battle, watching the image of Kadaj flicker. Then a cold chill raced down his spine. Someone else was watching as well. He shifted his gaze off Angeal, past the struggling Aerith, and to Jenova. Her single eye was fixed on their little group. Loz could feel the hatred radiating from her.

The copy of Sephiroth shifted its eyes as well, and abruptly broke off from chasing Yazoo, hesitating a moment, its eyes fixed on Kadaj. Then it moved into a swift sprint, darting towards them with deadly intensity.

Loz forced himself up, stepping between the others and the Sephiroth copy, but fear gripped his heart. No longer was he bold and fierce in the face of Sephiroth's wicked smile. He could remember the piercing, burning pain that Masamune's strike delivered-remember the pressure building behind his eyes as Sephiroth''s cruel hand closed around his throat-remember suffocating on the ground, watching Yazoo try to protect him even as he suffered and died.

He raised his hands, knowing it would do nothing to protect him, and swallowed hard.

The gunshot that rang out filled him with hope again, and he opened his eyes in time to watch Yazoo-bloody and sweating-slam his borrowed gun's butt into Sephiroth's head, driving him to the side, away from their little group. Loz fell back a step, bumping into Mama Strife and clinging to her, despite her distraction. She and Sephiroth hadn't even flinched at the threat.

Yazoo spared Loz not a glance, driving Sephiroth away by any means. He kicked, and shot, and bludgeoned, and all while trying to avoid Masamune's fierce retaliation. Sephiroth smiled cruelly as he indulged the middle remnant in his game.

"Yaz," Loz whispered in worry.

He couldn't save Yazoo from Sephiroth this time. He hadn't even really saved him the first time. He'd only helped Yazoo save himself, and given him a chance to fight back. That was the most he'd managed while trapped inside this child's body-his greatest accomplishment.

Yazoo lept back, fired carefully, and pulled off a shot that ought to have gone straight through the image's head. Instead it went though empty air, where the Sephiroth copy had been only a moment before. Loz watched Yazoo lower the gun—watched the shock and horror dawn on his face as his eyes scanned the horizon for his opponent, brushing over the chaos of Aerith's battle against Jenova, and Angeal calling for Zack—sweeping over to make confused eye contact with him.

Loz saw the shadow behind Yazoo just in time to inhale to warn him. The words never escaped him.

Behind Yazoo, the copy jerked back into reality, sinking his teeth into Yazoo's shoulder. Loz was still holding his willowy brother's gaze when he saw him jerk and twitch—heard the scream of pain and surprise that escaped him. He lifted his hand, pulling at Sephiroth's hair, trying to struggle free of the bite, but the man clung on, growling, his arms circling Yazoo's waist to keep him still, capturing his gun-arm in the move.

"Yazoo!" Loz screamed, trying to go to him. His legs shook under him so hard that he stumbled. He was only a kid. He couldn't be expected to handle this.

"Stay back!" Yazoo barked in return, fighting to escape the death-grip his original had on him.

The Sephiroth copy bit down harder. Crimson bright blood seeped from under his teeth, staining Yazoo's bare chest as it poured out of the bite. Loz pressed a hand to his mouth, horrified. He couldn't look away. He couldn't help.

"Do something!" he screamed to the real Sephiroth—to the man who was responsible for the other him existing in the first place.

Sephiroth didn't move. He watched Yazoo with an empty gaze, as though he were hearing things in his head again. Loz staggered to his feet, crossing to him and shaking him hard. Sephiroth let himself be shaken, his hand sliding off of Kadaj's chest, leaving Loz's brother supported only by Mama Strife's efforts.

"This is your fault," Loz screamed at the man who had created them all. "Do something!"

Sephiroth slowly turned his gaze to the boy. Some light seemed to re-enter his eyes. He rose, stiffly, to his feet, shaking his head. He widened his hand, as though searching for the sword he no longer had. Then he looked to the Sephiroth copy that held his blade. He took a deep breath, steeling himself.

"He's going to kill him!" Loz cried, his voice breaking as tears streaked down his cheeks. "You have to stop him!"

Sephiroth gave a small shake of his head. His finger's spelled.

'I can't. He's me.'

Loz shoved him away, making him stumble on unsteady legs. He turned back to watch as Yazoo sank to his knees, his eyes distant, his lips parted, panting hard as the Sephiroth copy behind him sank with him, still biting—still bleeding the boy. Yazoo's hand slid out of the man's hair as he gasped for breath. His eyes were focused far away. Loz had to wonder what was happening inside his mind. He steeled himself, taking a step forward.

As he moved, Sephiroth lifted his gaze. Twin inhuman eyes fixed on Loz and narrowed. Then teeth pulled from soft flesh, stained crimson with blood. Yazoo was released, and sagged to the ground, gasping in air, fumbling a hand up to press over the wound in his shoulder as he struggled to rise.

Loz swallowed hard as Sephiroth's copy held his gaze. The man stood, slowly. His entire mouth was bright red with wet blood. He lifted a hand, wiping the back of it over his lips and chin, as though wiping away the mess, though it only served to smear it.

Then, as Loz watched, his image jerked. Doubled. He'd seen this before.

"No," Loz whispered, his eyes widening as the Sephiroth copy's gaze narrowed in pleasure.

And then the image split again. A second form split from him, stepping smoothly from his shadow in a jerk like a static-filled image. The copy of Yazoo didn't bother sprinting like Kadaj's double had. He just smiled, slowly, and turned his head to take in the battlefield. Loz's gaze locked on the gun in the copy's hand. It wasn't fair, he thought. It wasn't fair that they had weapons when their originals did not. It didn't make sense. Jenova's powers never did.

Yazoo's eyes locked onto the conflict across the field. Angeal was holding Kadaj's copy off. He seemed to be close to taking it out all together. Even the image of Kadaj was weak, he was so used up. But it was still darting around, posing a constant enough danger to keep Angeal engaged in battle. Loz almost felt it the moment that Yazoo's double locked its eyes onto Zack's prone form.

"Zack," Loz called, feeling Jenova's intent all the way down to his bones. "Zack, get up!"

Zack did not so much as stir. The call drew Angeal's attention, but that only served to leave Kadaj an opening to dart in, leaving a slice on Angeal's arm before dancing out of reach of the buster sword again. Yazoo's image turned to Loz, face calm and distant. Then he smiled. It was an ugly smile. The sort of look Yazoo only gave to creatures like Cloud—creatures he found utterly beyond distain.

The Sephiroth copy reached out, touched a bloodied hand to Yazoo's hair, then nodded, ponderously. Yazoo moved in the blink of an eye, sprinting towards the fallen Zack, his smile wicked and fierce. Loz started forward, but froze as a streak of silver and black blurred past him, shoving him back towards Kadaj and Mama Strife.

Sephiroth was joining the fight.

Lillian Strife sighed, looking around the inside of her own cottage. She did not understand the way the lifestream worked, and never would. She'd settled with her hands on the chest of the damaged child that had until recently been the pet project of Aerith and Zack, and the moment she started trying to envision him somewhere safe, she had ended up inside her own cottage. She was aware, in the strange way of being aware she had now, that she had not physically moved—she was still in the middle of the battlefield, and if she listened, she could still hear the fight. This was all inside her mind. It was just that what was inside your mind was a very concrete thing in the lifestream.

She looked down at the child resting in her lap. His eyes were closed and his head tilted back. He looked tired. She stroked her fingers over his forehead, pushing the fall of silken silver hair out of his face. He turned into the touch. Her other hand stayed resting on his chest, feeling his thready heartbeat thundering within, in panic and fear utterly opposite to what she saw in him at the moment. He looked sick—like he'd been wrung thin by some disease that stole his sleep and his appetite. She let out a slow breath, forcing herself not to think too hard about the disease named Jenova, and the damage she had wrought to so many.

"How are you feeling?" she asked softly, looking down at the boy who had been left so abruptly in her care.

"Strange," Kadaj whispered, his voice dry and strained. "I don't know what to believe."

"You could believe in your brothers," Lillian advised, brushing her fingers lightly through the boy's hair. "In Loz and Yazoo. They've never stopped looking for you, you know. Now they're fighting to save you."

At least Yazoo was, she thought with a faint frown. She hoped Loz wasn't fighting. He was a sweet little thing, strange as it was to think so. She didn't want to see him hurt. She didn't want to see Yazoo hurt either, but at least he was closer to an age where his life could be his responsibility. Loz was still a little one. He needed protecting.

"No they're not," Kadaj whispered in argument at last. It seemed to take him a long time to process anything she said. "They're fighting for each other."

"Do you think you have to be the only one they're fighting for to be important?" Lillian asked. "It's for you too. And for me, I think."

"I hardly know them," Kadaj said, shaking his head.

"I know," she said softly, tilting his head up with a gentle hand. "They want to save you anyway."

There was a long pause. His head was heavy in her hand. He turned into the touch, his striking eyes closed lightly. He seemed so tired—so worn. She wished she could tell him to sleep, but she feared what would happen to him if he could no longer put up any resistance to what Jenova wanted of him.

"I'd have been happy," Kadaj said at last, his breath soft and warm against her arm as he spoke. "With Mother."

He flickered with his words, and Lillian fought back a shiver. With every moment he doubted, Jenova was getting stronger. Though she wished that she could believe that good would always triumph over evil, she knew better. Even if Jenova was defeated, she knew in the pit of her stomach that it didn't necessarily mean her friends outside would have won.

"If you would have been happy," She said slowly, "Why were you holding so tight to Yazoo when he brought you here? Shouldn't you have been struggling to get free if you wanted to stay?"

"It's not that I didn't want to stay," Kadaj replied, lifting his gaze to her slowly, his cat-like eyes dull and listless. "I hurt her. I couldn't stay."

"You hurt her?" Lillian repeated with surprise.

"She was going to kill him," Kadaj whispered. "I wasn't even thinking. I just... Moved. I don't know why."

"I do," Lillian said softly in return, shifting her hand to cup the boy's cheek, her other pressing a little more firmly against his thundering heartbeat. "It's because you are a good person and a good brother. A mother should be proud."

"It was stupid," Kadaj shook his head slowly as he spoke. "Now she's going to kill all of us."

"She's going to try," Lillian agreed, carding her hand through his soft silver hair. "But your brothers are fighting for you. And my friends are fighting as well. She is only a nightmare, Kadaj. She's only as strong as we make her."

"You can't fight nightmares," Kadaj whispered, burrowing his face in her shirt.

"You can wake up," Lillian said firmly, even as she buried her fingers in his hair, letting him hide from her. "So long as you listen to the people calling you. You can survive this, Kadaj. You're young and you're strong. Not just anyone can face down my son on equal ground. All you have to do is decide to fight, and I know you can stop her."

The house shuddered around them, and Lillian pulled the boy a little closer, holding him tight and closing her eyes. She would keep her cottage safe. She would keep this boy safe. She had never been a warrior, but until she'd been torn away from her son by a sudden and violent death, she had been a good mother. She wasn't about to let the same thing happen twice. If this was where she was needed, this was where she would be. She would keep Kadaj safe. They could decide whether he was a good-guy or bad-guy later.

She had already made up her mind. To her, there was no such thing as an evil child. Just a hurt one.

Loz gasped as their damaged original moved in a blur of speed. It seemed only days ago he could barely move at all. Now it took him only seconds to reach Angeal and Zack, and only a moment more to intercept the attacking clone of Yazoo.

Sephiroth's bare feet dug into the earth as he caught the copy's charge. The false Yazoo switched targets without hesitation, lofting fierce, precise high kicks at Sephiroth's head. The clone always attacked to Sephiroth's blind side, throwing his blows where he knew Sephiroth could not see them coming. Despite the copy's efforts, Sephiroth still dodged the quick moves with barely a stumble.

Behind him, Angeal was starting to dominate in his battle with Kadaj's copy. Whatever Mama Strife was doing, it was drawing Kadaj's attention and focus from Jenova. The little image of him flickered and shifted uneasily, even mid-attack. It would not be long before Angeal took him out. The huge ex-soldier swung his sword fiercely, driving Kadaj's image back to glance over at Zack. He froze when he caught sight of the damaged Sephiroth defending Zack's still form.

"Loz!" Yazoo's voice cracked as he screamed.

Loz knew before he started turning that Yazoo was still down. He knew that Sephiroth was coming. Automatically, he rose. Kadaj wasn't getting back up. Not for a long time. Mama Strife was keeping him alive. It was him or no one. He had to protect them.

He looked up, stepping forward. Sephiroth's copy wasn't even bothering to run towards them. The thing walked briskly, a confident smile on his blood stained lips. Loz could see Yazoo behind him, a hand clasped to his bloody shoulder, struggling to rise. His legs would no longer hold him. It had ceased to be a matter of will. His body had nothing left to give.

"Well?" a dark smooth voice whispered to Loz, the words soft in his mind. "What will you do?"

Loz caught his breath, staring at the approaching form of Sephiroth as time slowed. His gaze fixed on the small smirk Sephiroth was sending him. Then his gaze slid to Yazoo, watching as he fell, still fighting to stand, his blood dropping in thick gobs to the ground as he struggled. He looked like he had after the explosion—falling apart. Still fighting. Loz had been like that once. He straightened, putting his shoulders back, and narrowed his eyes.

"You want to protect them?" the voice of Jenova whispered in his mind—in all of their minds—cold and fierce in opposition to the Goddess's warm strength. "Ridiculous. You can't even protect yourselves."

Loz frowned, looking down at his hands. Jenova's words struck a chord in him. He knew she'd intended them mainly for Sephiroth, who was so bravely stepping into the fight against Yazoo's copy, despite being weaponless—despite being hurt. He knew she was right, but it didn't fill him with fear or despair as he knew she had intended it to. Sephiroth couldn't protect himself. Neither could he or his brothers.

His brain kicked into gear, running through their journey. Yazoo falling prey to the men who hated him for the stigma, to his own blindness, to Jenova herself, and yet every time he'd stepped up to defend Loz, they had somehow made it. It was the same with him. He couldn't defend himself from the monster, from sickness, from Jenova as well, but defending Yazoo? He'd managed that. He'd always found a way. He glanced down at Kadaj who had been so tragically unable to save himself, and knew in the very depths of his heart that his baby brother would have fought Jenova to protect someone he loved. His Kadaj could have won, if it was for anyone but himself.

"You can protect them, Seph," Loz whispered to his original, though he knew the man could not hear him. He lifted a hand to his heart—to where he knew a piece of Sephiroth dwelled within him. "You know they're in danger this time, so you can protect them."

"Loz," Yazoo choked, his voice barely audible from so far away as he struggled to stand. "Loz, run."

He did not run. He lifted his gaze from his hands to the slowly approaching copy. He watched the face of the false-Sephiroth shift in confusion at what he saw in Loz's stare.

"You can save them," he whispered again to his original, "and so can I."

"Loz?" Mama Strife murmured, only half-rousing from the trance she had entered to keep Kadaj alive.

"Thanks for everything, Mama," Loz whispered with a smile. "If I don't get to tell you again."

"You're not going out there," she said sharply, coming more to herself as she pressed down against Kadaj's chest, as though holding him in place.

"I'm sorry," Loz murmured. "It would have been nice to have a mother. But I have to grow up now. They need me."

He would have liked to kiss her forehead and thank her again—profusely and honestly—but the time for talking was over. He rolled back his shoulders, lifted his head, and walked forward smoothly. As he went, he felt the lifestream coiling around him, and heard a strange series of things that he knew had little or nothing to do with what was happening around him in his reality.

'Shit,' a voice he recognized from quite some time ago muttered. 'I'm not good at this sorta stuff, yo. Um... I willingly sacrifice these weapons of, uh, fallen warriors.'

Loz smirked. He could feel the air shifting around his left arm, and knew what was coming.

'Please take them, I guess,' the half-familiar voice continued. 'And, uh... Let them fight more stuff?'

'You are bad at this,' Zack's voice commented from a similar distance, sounding deeply entertained.

Loz inhaled deeply, took another step forward, and whispered the words that he knew he needed to say to himself.

"The things that have happened," he said to himself, "They're my fault too. I'm not a victim and I'm not a child. I'm ready to accept responsibility. I'm ready to grow up."

Something inside him clicked in the same moment that Sephiroth's copy charged. A great many things happened in the next moment. A firm, cold, familiar grip wrapped around his too-small arm as Dual Hound appeared with him, drawn from the real world by Reno's 'sacrifice.' An instant later, it was no longer too lose. The ground fell away from him as he grew mid-stride, shooting up from the height of a seven year old to be on par with Sephiroth. Inside him, he felt his heart beat strongly, and knew that that feeling had echoed through all of his brothers. It was a feeling of strength. He only realized when he felt it sing through him how much he had missed it. The last thing that happened in that moment between one breath and the next was simple, and small, but it made all the difference in the world to Loz.

He smirked in confidence, and he meant it.

Sephiroth's copy hesitated, and his moment of hesitation was all Loz needed to drive Dual Hound into his face and send him flying. It was the most satisfying thing he had felt since he died. Possibly even the most satisfying thing he'd ever felt all together. The look on the not-Sephiroth's face—the expression of utter shock and bewilderment—was as pathetic as it was enjoyable.

"Loz?" Yazoo breathed, his voice soft and thready.

"You gunna be able to get up?" He asked with a casualness he didn't feel as he walked over to Yazoo, standing beside him with Dual Hound still lifted, watching as Sephiroth tried to pick himself up.

"Hah," Yazoo breathed, a grin touching his lips as Loz glanced down at him. "Doubt it."

"Yeah?" Loz asked, tilting his head. "I guess that means it's my turn, huh."

"Took you long enough," Yazoo gasped back. "I've been waiting to tag-out for ages."

"As if," Loz replied fondly, shaking his head. "You've been enjoying playing martyr."

"Well who can blame me," Yazoo sighed, sinking towards the ground. Loz knew his brother's physical body was dying again, but he refused to let himself panic. "Not every day one of us gets to play the martyr."

"Consider this your last time," Loz said firmly. "From now on leave it to Cloud. Got it?"

"Got it," Yazoo replied, his eyes closing lightly.

"Come back soon," Loz warned him as the false Sephiroth picked himself up, blood pouring out of a head-wound Loz had left on him. "I'm going to be waiting. Don't let me down."

He felt it when Yazoo's body gave out on him. He glanced down, watching the same green streamers that were dancing under Zack's skin glide under his brother's.

"I know you're close to breaking," Loz whispered to him. "I know it's been too much for you. You're not alone, Yaz. Hang in there."

"Impudent," the Sephiroth copy snarled. It was the first time he'd spoken. He wiped at the blood pouring from his forehead with an affronted air.

"Oh, you talk now?" Loz commented, stepping forward and spreading his hands in a silent challenge. "Does that mean mommy dearest loaned you her tongue?"

"You'll pay," Sephiroth hissed, his eyes glowing with anger.

"I've done that," Loz replied sharply. "It's your turn now. You've taken a lot of things that don't belong to you. It's time for you to give them back."

"And you're going to be the one to make me?" He gave an ugly laugh, swinging Masamune down sharply, showing off the shining edge of the blade.

"Yup," Loz said with a shrug. "I'm thinking I'll start by tearing your tongue out. As payback, you know? It doesn't belong to you anyhow."

"And then what?" The copy said, eyes shining. "Will you tear out your own heart? Your brother's eye? The Puppet's hand?"

"No," Loz said, shaking his head. "You don't understand at all. Those were gifts. Once you give a gift to someone, it belongs to them. Otherwise I'm sure you would have taken back all this strength you gave us a long time ago."

Jenova let out a wordless scream of frustration across the field, and the Sephiroth copy lurched into action. Loz smiled as he watched the imitation approach. It probably wasn't smart to piss Jenova off, but it had accomplished his goal. There was no way she was going to pay attention to breaking Yazoo any further now. Not with him as a much more appetizing target. He deepened his stance, reached back, and plowed Dual Hound into the ground, tearing the turf beneath the copy's feet into pieces.

It felt absolutely amazing.

Sephiroth felt the tide change. It felt like breathing again. Loz grew to fit himself. Yazoo's ragged soul touched peace. Kadaj steadied himself in the arms of a true mother. Sephiroth stood between Zack and destruction.

Things clicked into place.

He could feel his old power growing with every moment. For a while, he'd thought it would never return. For a long time. Years. Now it rose up happily to meet him, freed by involvement—by doing the right thing. There was no doubt in him that this was the right side to be on. He'd never intended things to turn out the way they had. He would do anything to take them back. He never could do that, but this he could manage. He could keep Zack from being destroyed. He could stand by Angeal like he should have all along. He could fight for the planet.

The copy of Yazoo fired at him, and he let the strikes hit. Dodging had never been his strong suit. He didn't care about pain. Any pain he could possibly feel had been inflicted by Jenova in the years she'd held him hostage, stealing away his strength to feed her own insatiable lust for power and freedom. He'd grown an immunity. A couple of bullet holes didn't bother him. The gun wasn't even real. Just another figment of Jenova's. Just like the creature he was fighting. He accepted the strikes and kept moving. The copy was no longer smiling.

Sephiroth wasn't sure what Jenova had been expecting when she went against him. At first, the Yazoo look-alike had seemed delighted and amused by his intervention. He was sure she'd expected to get to watch him crumble again. Too bad for her, he thought, as he brushed aside a kick from the little imitation and whirled to strike its nose with a bare fist. The copy staggered back, rocked by the contact, and Sephiroth pushed the advantage, staying on the attack.

It was good to move again. Even if it was on autopilot against an opponent who was hardly worth his time.

Nearby, Angeal drove the Kadaj copy back, forcing him further and further from Jenova—the source of his power—and Zack and Aerith, who he was protecting. Sephiroth sighed at his foolishness. He would have warned him not to, if he could, but his voice was long gone. He'd had no voice to object with for a long time now.

He stayed close to Zack's prone form, letting the Yazoo copy stagger further away, trying to lure him. He'd seen the disappearing act that his own copy had pulled on Yazoo. He wasn't going to make the same mistake.

When he heard a sound of surprise from Angeal, he knew he'd been right to be suspicious. He turned calmly, waiting. He knew Jenova as well as she knew herself. She should not have kept him so close to the heart of her.

Kadaj's copy appeared right where Sephiroth had known he would—sword raised over Zack's throat. Sephiroth was waiting. He grabbed the back of the copy's shirt and threw him, unceremoniously. The animal sound of surprise that escaped the shadow as it hurtled into its fake brother was delightful.

Not having a tongue didn't stop Sephiroth from laughing.

"Nice!" called the deep voice of Loz, colored with a laugh of his own.

Sephiroth shot him a look and a nod, pleased to see the boy still standing guard over Yazoo's prone form, and his own copy once again picking itself up off the ground some distance away, snarling through the blood on its face.

"Sephiroth?" Angeal's voice whispered from behind him.

He turned his one eye to his friend. It left him blind to his opponents. He didn't mind. Angeal would warn him if they came.

For a moment, their gazes locked. Sephiroth wasn't sure what Angeal saw in his eyes, but it was something that made the man's eyes widen and his face pale with shock. Sephiroth didn't flinch. He knew he'd been made ugly and damaged by Jenova's treatment. He didn't care. He drank in the sight of his long time friend like it was a balm. He'd wanted for so long to see Angeal again. He wished he could apologize, as he had always wanted to.

Rage welled in him as he turned away from his friend, looking back to the clones on the ground with absolute fury. He should have been able to apologize. It should have been him speaking, instead of the poisonous creature floating in the air before Aerith's guard spell, spewing her hatred in his voice through clenched teeth.

Sephiroth gestured for Angeal to stay with Zack, and started walking forward. He'd heard what Loz had said about tearing the copy's tongue out. It wouldn't do much to do it to the copy, but Sephiroth liked the idea.

If eating his tongue had given her his voice, he would simply have to return the favor.

Loz heard Yazoo moving around before he was even done trading blows with Sephiroth this time around. He was so distracted he took a stab from Masamune, straight in and out of his left arm, leaving an ugly wound. He kicked Sephiroth's copy away swiftly. He was panting and shaking. It had been too long since he'd had a real fight. He was out of practice.

His only consolation was that the fake Sephiroth was much bloodier than he was.

"You up again?" He asked without looking back.

"Working on it," Yazoo rasped, choking and coughing.

Loz glanced back to watch his brother rise slowly to his hands and knees. He shouldn't have looked. Sephiroth was there again in a moment, sword sweeping towards him. He shifted out of the way, but had to raise his arm to block. The sword bit deep into Dual Hound, making the weapon spark dangerously. Loz's eyes widened in alarm, and he looked up to Sephiroth's copy in surprise.

The copy smiled.

The explosion caught both of them, but Loz was pretty sure he had it worse, what with the thing exploding being strapped to his arm. He bit back the howl of pain, letting the force of the explosion send him rolling back. He picked himself up again as quickly as he could. Only his right arm responded to his need. He didn't dare look at his left. His legs were trembling, the pain making him shake all over. He was pretty sure that was the end of his left arm. He didn't have the time now to mourn it.

Loz looked up at the copy he was fighting. He tried to hide the fact that he was breathing hard from the lclone. As he watched the smiling Sephiroth copy, he felt blood running down from his nose, and he wiped it away harshly,

The fake Sephiroth was missing a lot of skin off of its face. It didn't seem to mind. Masamune swung up into a ready position, completely undamaged. Loz cursed under his breath, shifting to ready himself to fight one armed. He wasn't about to give up now.

"Loz," Yazoo wheezed, rising to his feet, his gaze fixed on Sephiroth's copy, jolted into motion by the explosion. "You alright?"

Loz giggled. He couldn't help it.

"Not quite," he said, "I still have my left leg."

That earned him one of Yazoo's incredulous looks.

"So I'm not 'all right.' That's only when I lose my left leg too."

"You're an idiot," Yazoo replied, though his eyes flickered down to Loz's arm. "Let's hurry up and end this so we can get you taken care of."

"You say that like you think we're gunna win," Loz teased mildly, inching closer to his brother.

"Please," Yazoo replied mildly as the Sephiroth copy approached them once more. "With a big brute like you? How could we not. Besides, he hasn't noticed my new advantage yet."

Loz didn't have time to ask before Yazoo lifted his arm that he'd held hidden from view. Velvet Nightmare gleamed in the light of the afternoon. The concussive force of Yazoo's first shot scored right through the center of Sephiroth's chest. Loz felt himself grinning, eyes lighting up in excitement.

The copy didn't let a chest shot stop him, but it rocked him. That more than anything was what convinced Loz that Yazoo was right. They were going to win.

"Think we should go ahead and give them a hand with the real fight?" Loz asked, inclining his head towards his brother.

"Hm. Probably. Why don't we go ahead and deal with this annoyance."

"Do you want the honors?"

"Why yes," Yazoo purred, his smile widening dangerously, and a quiet, mad giggle coloring his words. "I really do."

Loz straightened, putting his free hand to the injury on his arm, holding the wounded appendage against his side. He glanced down and let out a breath. It was bad. There were pieces of metal jutting out of his skin. But he still had an arm attached, which was more than he'd thought.

By the time he looked up again, Yazoo was in motion. He flew across the ground. Loz smiled, watching him. Sephiroth sank into stance, waiting for him, but the tides had turned. He struck with Masamune only to almost drop it when Yazoo jumped and landed lightly atop the blade. Loz snickered. If it had really been Sephiroth instead of Jenova's puppet, he would have known better than to try a direct thrust like that on his wiry brother. It might have worked on idiots like Cloud, but Yazoo was better than that.

Between one moment and the next, it was over. Yazoo took a single step forward on the blade he'd landed on lightly, and fired right between Sephiroth's eyes.

The image disappeared like it had never been there.

Loz would have applauded if he'd had both hands.

"One down!" He called instead, drawing the attention of the other combatants.

Jenova roared her fury. Loz glanced over, watching the images of Yazoo and Kadaj fall at her feet. He shuddered a little. He didn't like seeing either of his brothers with broken necks. Even if they weren't real. He tore his eyes away from the broken, fading images, and fixed it on the original Sephiroth.

He looked like a god of death. His hair whipped around him, thrown into motion by the wind coming off of Jenova's powers. He'd stepped outside of Aerith's protective spell to handle the two copies. He looked over at Loz with his single eye, and lifted three fingers.

"Three down," Loz corrected himself, grinning at the man.

He was answered by a slender, wicked smile. Then, as one, he, Sephiroth, and Yazoo all lifted their eyes to Jenova herself.

"You think you've won?" She laughed. "I am stronger than all of you combined. It is because of me you exist!"

"Is anyone else getting tired of hearing that?" Yazoo asked, sauntering towards the main gathering of powers.

"Yeah, it's getting a little old," Loz agreed, rolling his shoulders as he trotted over to join his brother's advance.

Sephiroth just lifted his chin and started walking, ahead of the two of them, but somehow not separate. They were a united front.

"I still hold your little brother's life," Jenova snarled, her eyes fixing on Loz in particular. "I can drag him to death at any moment."

"Seriously?" Loz said. "You're going to play the Kadaj card? Because you can ask the last guy who killed him how that turned out. I think he'd tell you he didn't enjoy the experience."

"And he didn't even really mean to kill him," Yazoo agreed with a quiet chuckle. "He was aiming for you."

"We killed him anyway, though," Loz said with a careless shrug.

"I beg your pardon," Yazoo replied sharply, glancing over, "I killed him. You just blew yourself up."

"I helped!" Loz insisted.

"Don't cry, Loz," Yazoo sneered.

"You dare to mock," Jenova's voice snarled, dangerous and angry.

"Aerith," Loz said softly. "Take five. Protect Angeal and Zack."

"We have a score to settle with the calamity," Yazoo agreed softly.

The young woman, protector of the planet, and enemy of the three of them, took one look at them as they advanced. Then, with her arms still lifted, she backed away, withdrawing from blasting her power against Jenova's to form a shield around the two men who had become the planet's strongest weapons.

"Kind of an embarrassing show from their side, don't you think, Sephiroth?" Yazoo asked as they drew on level with their original.

"They gave it a go," Loz defended mildly, stepping up to Sephiroth's other side. It was weird to be on eye-level with the man.

Sephiroth just smiled and dipped his head a little. His hair twisted in the wind, thrown about along with Yazoo's by the force of Jenova's presence. Loz was happy that he'd kept his hair short. He didn't have to worry about tying himself up with a few locks of silver.

"You're going to die," Jenova whispered. "You cannot defeat me. You have never been able."

"We might die," Yazoo agreed, inclining his head to her, "but we're going to be taking you with us, mother dear. For all that you've done. To us. To our friends. To my brother."

"Our brother!" Loz corrected, frowning across at Yazoo. "You don't get to keep Kadaj all to yourself just because you wouldn't let me help save him, you know."

Yazoo just gave a twitch of a smile. The expression was eerily echoed by Sephiroth.

Then chaos descended.

Loz had never personally been pulled into a summon fight before, but he knew that what happened next was very like that effect. There was a jerk, a falling sensation, and then they were no longer in Aerith's field. They were in the middle of a rocky wasteland, surrounded by nothing but darkness and crumbling earth. In the air, a dozen little islands like the one they were standing on floated around them.

He looked around, but Jenova had vanished from her place in the air.

"Is this some sort of limit break?" Yazoo asked, looking to Sephiroth for explanation.

The man shrugged, shaking his head a little.

"Well, at least I didn't need a translator for that," Yazoo muttered to himself sourly, looking around. "Stand back to back. Whoever spots her first gives a warning. Unless it's you, Sephiroth. I guess you'll just have to scream or wave or something."

"You're such an asshole," Loz said fondly, smiling benignly as he turned his back on the other two to watch behind them.

"It's in the bloodline," Yazoo drawled.

Loz was very certain that the sound he heard from Sephiroth was the beginnings of a laugh.

The ground shook under them, and they all tensed. Loz immediately missed Dual Hound. He frowned, tightening his good fist. Missing it wouldn't do him any good. He had what he had. He needed to make do as best he could and get out of there with his family alive.

"There," Yazoo snapped.

Loz whirled, eyes fixing on Jenova at once. She was no longer even pretending to be human. Loz locked his eyes on hers, aware of the tentacles and wings writhing around her in a never-still mess of limbs and muscle, but it made him sick to look at. He took a deep breath, trying to focus.

"My pets," she whispered.

"You wish," Yazoo muttered, lifting Velvet Nightmare to fire at her, steadily and evenly. She smiled, shifting her wings in front of herself. The bullets buried in them, but did not penetrate. If she felt the pain, she did not show it.

"I made a miscalculation," she said mildly. "By keeping you alive, I could feed off you for years, but now I see that there is too much in the human parts of you to object to that."

"Gun's not gunna work too great, huh," Loz muttered to Yazoo, ignoring her.

"Not when she can see it," Yazoo replied, eyes narrowing.

Sephiroth stepped forward, gazing up at Jenova with hatred. He gestured to Loz, and started spelling, almost too quickly for Loz to translate.

"He says you've taken enough from him," Loz called up to the monster. "And he's going to take it back."

"Hah!" Jenova's form cried. "Come and try, my little puppets!"

Sephiroth took it as an invitation. Loz and Yazoo were only half a step behind him. Jenova was floating over the ground, but that didn't stop Sephiroth from leaping up to meet her. His good hand was curled into a perfect fist. She batted him aside with the first of her many waving tentacle-like appendages. Loz was right behind him. He slid through the gap that she'd left deflecting Sephiroth and plowed his good fist into her side. He frowned. Bones ought to have cracked.

He was thrown clear and only just managed to land on his feet. It was a close thing.

"She's a damn invertebrate!" he yelled.

"I'm amazed you know that word!" Yazoo called back from where he'd been tossed across the rock from him.

Jenova snarled down at them, curling her wings in front of herself again. Loz felt the rise in power more than saw it, and ducked for cover just as the rain of razor sharp feathers started. He heard a hiss of surprise from Sephiroth. Sharp feathers buried themselves in Loz's back, but he just kept his head covered. They didn't have enough force to go all the way through. They wouldn't kill him.

When the rain stopped, he stood and turned to face her again without hesitation. He clenched his teeth, searching for power. It answered his call. He built the limit break in his fist, sprinting forward again. Yazoo matched his charge after a few steps, and Loz ducked without comment. Yazoo's feet landed on his shoulders, and Loz jumped, propelling his brother ahead of him flying towards their 'mother.' Yazoo was caught by a flaring wing that hit hard on his ribs with the same cracking sound Loz had been hoping for before hand. Loz was right behind him. He didn't try aiming for Jenova. He knew she'd just bat him aside. He grabbed the wing that had hit Yazoo and unleashed his limit break, grabbing the thing with one hand and punching through it with the other.

The wing tore off in his hand, and Jenova howled in pain.

Loz landed lightly, tossing away the wing. He smirked up at Jenova, not letting his worry for Yazoo show. His brother was picking himself up, cracking his neck.

"That was actually pretty good," Yazoo commented breathlessly. His eyes met Loz's, but they didn't echo his words. They were saying something else. Loz glanced around and caught on quickly.

"You're bad at compliments," Loz said teasingly in reply. "You should stick to insults." But his eyes carried a different message back to his brother. He nodded a little in understanding.

Neither of them knew where Sephiroth had gone. They needed to make sure that Jenova didn't get distracted from them long enough to start looking.

"Little worms," she snarled, her blood pouring down in a rain of acidic blood that made the rocks beneath her steam and fizzle.

"Try not to get that stuff on you," Yazoo muttered.

"I'm not that stupid," Loz huffed in reply before bursting into motion again.

He didn't jump for her this time. He built up his strength, slammed his fist into the ground beneath her, severing a rock from its surface, and kicked the significant boulder up towards her. She cut through it with a flash of sharp bladed wingtips, sending it flying to the ground. Her eyes turned to Loz the moment the boulder was cut, distracting her just long enough for Yazoo to squeeze off a shot in her direction. It caught her high on the breastbone, just a little too far to the right. She howled in anger, but did not fall.

Loz started moving out of her way, but he wasn't quite fast enough. She reached down with a swift tentacle, grabbing him up by his wounded arm. He thrashed in her hold, snarling at her. She gave him a macabre grin and turned to Yazoo.

"Come boy," she purred. "Shoot again. Let's see whether your bullet hits me before I can put your brother in the way."

"Yaz, if you have the shot take it!" Loz called down. "No hard feelings."

"I'm not going to shoot you, idiot!" Yazoo replied instantly, his gun trained on Jenova's form.

"It would be the kinder way to go," Jenova purred, shifting the tentacle she was holding Loz with towards her torn wing.

Loz couldn't help the scream that escaped him as the first acid blood touched him. He thrashed in her hold, scrambling at the tentacle holding him by the wrist and making no leeway. She was going to burn him to death with her own alien blood.

Yazoo didn't bother screaming his name. He just fired. Loz had just enough time to make eye contact with him as the bullet whizzed, then it struck him hard in the back. Jenova laughed while Loz choked on his own blood. Then the second shot hit.

The pain that exploded in Loz's wrist was almost meaningless when compared to the shriek of agony Jenova gave. He fell, and dropped at her feet, gasping for breath, laying far too close to the splashes of her acidic blood for his taste. A firm hand grabbed the back of his shirt and dragged him back. He glanced back to see Yazoo, gun still raised, dragging him out of the line of fire.

"Nice shooting," he rasped to his brother.

"Shut up, idiot," Yazoo ordered swiftly. "If you can get up, get up. This isn't even close to done."

"Impudent," Jenova snarled, her face no longer even close to human, a snarling, distorted mass of once-human features, "My impudent boys."

"How could something that ugly make someone as pretty as you?" Loz wheezed as he rose shakily to his feet.

"Beats me," Yazoo commented grimly.

She struck again without nearly as much warning this time. It was only because Yazoo gave him an initial shove that Loz managed to evade the rocks that had previously been floating above them and had suddenly decided to fall. He scrambled, rolling out of the way of the pinpointed attack. He saw Yazoo roll clear on the other side, try to stand, and fail, staggering upright using only one leg.

"Shit, Yazoo!" Loz cried, sprinting for his brother, ignoring the ache in his back—the blood sliding down from the bullet wound—the burning in his ruined arm.

He wasn't fast enough. One of Jenova's wings slammed into his injured brother, tossing him into the air, and just as quickly, he was wrapped in the grip of one of her tentacles. She started to squeeze, applying pressure to his broken ribs. Yazoo let out a sharp cry of pain, struggling against her. Velvet Nightmare's blade flashed as he hacked at the appendage holding him, but it was quickly jerked away by another of her limbs.

"Wait wait wait!" Loz cried, eyes fixed on his brother. "Don't kill him!"

"Oh?" Jenova purred, turning to look at him, humanity suddenly returning to her eyes. "What are you willing to trade me for him? Your life? Your strength? Your world?"

"Fine," Loz replied swiftly. "Done. It's a deal."

"Don't be stupid," Jenova commented mildly. "I am no fool, boy." She squeezed Yazoo again to emphasize the words, drawing a pained gasp of breath from his brother, making his legs kick uselessly against her hold. She trapped those as well when he managed to knick her.

"I'll give you whatever you want!" Loz called up. He had to stall her. He had to keep her attention. He had to trust that Sephiroth hadn't just run or fallen off the edge of the rocky island.

"What I want," she said softly, "Is to kill your brother in front of you. As I should have done the moment you walked in to my mansion you terrible, ugly, foolish boy."

Her hold on Yazoo tightened. Loz screamed, sprinting forward, knowing he would be too late. Then Jenova went very still. Deathly still. Her tentacles unfurled, and Yazoo dropped limp to the rocky ground beneath her. She craned her neck, trying to look behind herself. Twirling in the air. Loz barely got to Yazoo in time to drag him out of the way as her blood rained down in a circle. He glanced up just long enough to see Sephiroth behind her. His hand was inside her neck. Even as Loz watched, open-mouthed and sickened by the display, Sephiroth ripped his hand out again, still clinging to her back with his handless arm wrapped around one of her wings. The hand he'd pulled from her neck was clinging to a piece of flesh. Loz gagged as he saw it wriggle in Sephiroth's hand.

Her tongue.

He looked away—looked to his brother. He knew what Sephiroth would do. He didn't want to see. Yazoo was still in his hold, but he was still dragging in deep breaths. Just unconscious. Loz curled around him, holding him close as he heard the choking howls of Jenova and the ugly splatter of her blood on the ground. Then a voice he had not heard in a long time spoke, softly.

"Thank you, mother." Sephiroth's voice purred behind him. "I had been missing this."

Loz looked back, and watched in terrified fascination as the almost still moment between the two of them erupted into motion again. He knew how it would end. Sephiroth was himself again. He'd regained what Jenova had taken. There was only one way it could end. He looked away. He didn't need to watch. Someone else did.

"Wake up," he urged his brother. "Yazoo, wake up. She's dying."

He gave his brother a little shake, then winced in quiet apology as Yazoo roused with a whimper of pain. Bright green eyes opened, squinting up at him. Then the gaze moved past Loz, fixing on the battle between Sephiroth and Jenova. Yazoo rose, stiffly, and Loz rose with him, bracing him on the side of his broken leg.

They both watched as Sephiroth tore Jenova's head from his shoulders and the world crumbled around them, plunging them all into darkness. As the darkness closed in, Sephiroth threw back his head and laughed in heady freedom. Loz took Yazoo's hand and held on. Yazoo squeezed his hand back. Then the rocky world they'd been transported to vanished around them.

"Hey," the voice was gentle, if cautious. "Come on. Wake up."

"For the love of the goddess, Aerith, he's not going to bite." That voice he knew. Mama Strife. Lillian. "Come on, Loz. Time to rejoin the land of the living."

"We're not exactly living, Lil." Zack this time. Laughing.

"He looks terrible," Drawled a familiar, sarcastic, authoritative voice. That was the one that made Loz open his eyes.

He sat bolt upright, sending the people gathered around him scattering. He didn't mind that much. He had eyes only for one person.

Kadaj was kneeling nearby, watching him. He looked shifty, thin, uncertain, but solid. Awake. Loz burst into tears and moved without thought, forcing his tired, injured body to move, gathering his little brother close without a moment's hesitation. Kadaj tensed in his grip, but Loz didn't let him go. He'd learned his lesson about that. It didn't matter how standoffish his brothers were, so long as they were there.

"You're okay," He sobbed into his brother's shoulder.

"Idiot," Kadaj whispered. He sounded uncertain and hurt. After a moment, his head thunked against Loz's shoulder as he surrendered to the hold and hid his face there.

Loz pulled back only after a long while, grinning wetly at his brother and ruffling his long, silken hair. Kadaj snarled at him, ducking out from under his hand, but Loz didn't mind. Only Yazoo-

His train of thought stopped abruptly and he whirled, looking for his brother. He caught sight of him limping closer, not putting any weight on his broken leg. Angeal was helping him, silent and strong at his side. The man looked like he'd seen a ghost, but Yazoo was smiling.

Loz staggered to his feet, running to his brother with a drunken stumble to his steps. He stopped only a few feet away, staring at his brother, not even looking at Angeal. He'd have time for that later.

"You look terrible," Loz commented, wiping at his face with his working hand.

"I could say the same," Yazoo replied calmly, trying to straighten at Angeal's side without putting any weight on his foot or straining his broken ribs. Loz realized he was looking down at his brother.

"I'm taller than you again," Loz sniffled.

"I'd noticed, idiot" Yazoo breathed, a hand pressing over his ribs. "That's alright. You're still my little brother."

Loz was very, very gentle when he drew his slender brother away from Angeal's support and into a hug. For a moment, Yazoo went stiff as a rod, and Loz was almost consumed with fear. Was it going to be how it was while they were alive again? Would there be no more touching?

Then a long exhale escaped Yazoo, and he sank gratefully into Loz's hold, letting himself be supported and held. Loz very nearly dropped him in relief.

"It's over," Yazoo whispered against Loz's chest. "She's dead. It's over."

"Kadaj is okay too," Loz whispered into his brother's hair, wapping his good arm firmly around his brother's back, encouraging him to lean on him.

"We actually won for once," Yazoo whispered with a giggle.

"You say that like it's never happened before."

Both brothers looked up at the purred words. Loz knew that Yazoo smiled at the sight of the man as well.

Sephiroth was sporting burns on his face from where Jenova's blood had touched him. His one hand was blistered fiercely from plunging willingly into her neck. He didn't look at all upset by the injuries. He looked more alive than either of them had seen him before.

"How's having a tongue feel?" Loz asked, tilting his head. "Is it weird after so long without one?"

"Not in the slightest," Sephiroth replied.

"That means yes," Loz enlightened Yazoo, still grinning.

Their original huffed at them, then dropped his hand lightly on Loz's head, giving his hair a brief, uncertain ruffle. He didn't touch Yazoo, but the gesture was somehow inclusive.

"I'm sorry you got hurt," he commented mildly. "You did very well."

"It's really you, isn't it," Zack's voice whispered behind him. "You're the real Sephiroth. Where have you been?"

Sephiroth's eye glanced over to him, and he gave an elegant shrug.

"Later." Was all he said in reply before shifting his gaze and attention.. "Aerith, is it not? My brothers need healing. I believe you owe them. They just saved your world."

"So long as she and the goddess don't kill us, I'm happy to call it even," Yazoo wheezed.

"Don't be stupid," Loz scolded. "You can't afford to die again. Besides, the Goddess is totally on our side."

"Of course she is," Yazoo muttered grumpily.

Loz didn't bother trying to explain about the voice in his head that had helped him realize when it was time to turn the tides.

"Take me to Kadaj," Yazoo whispered.

The exhaustion—the strain—in his voice drew Loz's attention entirely. He phased out the words of the non-brothers around them and slipped Yazoo's arm over his shoulders carefully. He moved slowly with his injured brother. They were both of them weak with blood loss and pain. Kadaj rose slowly to meet them. He hesitated a moment, uncertain, then reached out to Yazoo, touching his hands to his brother's chest.

"Sit down," he commanded firmly. "Both of you. Idiots. You'll bleed to death, running around like this."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Yazoo muttered, sinking wearily to the ground.

"Don't be dramatic," Loz scolded, even as he dropped inelegantly to sit on the grass. "At least you never got suffocated.

"Don't turn it into a contest," Yazoo growled. "You know I'll win."

Loz found himself rather suddenly without the energy to respond. He let out a slow breath, closing his eyes. Someone had taken the feathers out of his back, but the wounds were still there. His burned arm throbbed. The bullet wounds Yazoo had left in his back and wrist were constant sources of dull agony. His brain felt fuzzy. He really didn't want to die again. They'd finally won after all.

"Aerith," Zack's voice was soft. "Come on. I know you love me babe. For my sake. Forgive them."

"He killed you," Aerith's voice was soft. Loz glanced up out of weary eyes to see her hiding against Zack's chest, holding him close and being held in return.

"He didn't do a very good job, obviously," Zack teased. "I'm still right here. Come on. One more chance for them."

"You'll keep saying that forever," Aerith whispered into his shirt. "No matter how many more chances they use up."

"Probably," Zack responded softly, kissing her hair lightly. "Help them anyway, alright babe?"

Aerith wiped the tears off her face as she pulled away from him. Loz shifted a little, moving between her and his brothers, even though he was still on his knees.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she said softly. "Zack would hate me."

Loz just stared at her out of stark eyes. He did not trust her. He would not.

"It's alright, Loz," Kadaj said softly behind him. "She can help. Just lie down, alright? Come on. You're hurt."

Small, familiar hands touched his shoulders, and where they led Loz followed. He let out a slow breath as he was guided to rest beside Yazoo. His slender brother was already unconscious again, his breath wheezing softly in and out, his eyes closed in exhaustion.

"I'm sorry," Kadaj whispered, and Loz knew he wasn't talking to him anymore. "I never meant to."

"Everyone has weak spots," Zack said fondly from nearby. "I'm the one whose sorry. That we couldn't keep you safe from her. We shouldn't have made you fight her. I get that now."

"At least you held out better than I did," Sephiroth said dryly.

Loz snuck a glance at him and smiled. Sephiroth was standing nearby, arms crossed, observing him with his one eye, and completely ignoring for, the moment, the man standing right next to him, inspecting him still with an aura of utter shock. Loz couldn't help a little laugh at the look still on Angeal's face.

"Sleep, Loz," Mama Strife's voice this time. Her soft hand rested lightly on Loz's cheek and he let out a slow breath. "Get some sleep. You were very brave today. Both of you were. You've earned your rest."

"What happens now?" Loz asked softly, even as he felt exhaustion tugging him towards darkness.

"Hard to say, on a world-wide view," Mama Strife replied as she brushed his hair back out of his face. "But I think things will start getting better. The planet will finally be able to heal itself now."

"There's still things in the mansion," Loz whispered.

"I'll handle it," Angeal replied in a low rumble.

"I think I'd be interested in helping with that," Sephiroth commented. He sounded exceedingly pleased. Loz had to smile again.

"But for you and your brothers," Mama Strife said softly. "I think a little R & R at Mama Strife's is in order. I got ride of my annoying neighbors for you. Or more, I shifted my house to a new place. It's complicated, but the point is that you'll like it."

"What about me?" Kadaj's voice was small and weak. "What are you going to do to me?"

"I said Loz and his brothers," Mama Strife said with a scolding, fierce edge in her voice. "And that's what I meant. You are definitely coming, and Sephiroth is welcome as well, if he'd like, though I'm not sure I have enough beds for all four of you."

"I think I will decline, thank you," Sephiroth rumbled as though from a great distance.

"Good, because you're coming and staying at my place," Zack insisted firmly. "I'm not losing track of you again."

"You'd let me come?" Kadaj asked softly.

"I'm the kind of mother who always has room for another child that needs her," Mama Strife murmured. "Besides. I'll need a hand carrying this big lug home."

Loz fell asleep even as he was laughing at the mental image of Mama Strife trying to carry him. He reached out and took Yazoo's hand with the last of his energy.

It was finally over. They were going home.

The End


	35. Epilogue

Epilogue

Yazoo squinted at the new picture on Mama Strife's mantel. He was certain it had not been there the last time he was in this house. Nothing like it, in fact. It had all been Cloud. A little glimpse here and there of Aerith and Zack, but mainly her blond, solemn son. He was still mesmerized by the picture of young Cloud in his braces, but that wasn't what had caught his attention this time.

"He's all tucked into bed," Mama Strife murmured softly from behind him. "Loz is staying with him for now. Worried about how thin he is, I think."

"He is awfully thin," Yazoo whispered. "But he'll be fine so long as he'll let us help."

"Very true," the woman said. "What's caught your eye up there?"

"Where did you get a picture of me?" Yazoo asked in bewilderment, staring at the image. "As I am."

"Ah," Mama Strife said, snickering in amusement. "That's what caught you." She waved her hand in dismissal. "I didn't take it. They just show up. Things I want to remember. I have whole albums—those are just the important ones."

"I don't remember this." Yazoo insisted, looking back to the picture of himself.

He knew it was recent. His eye was already blank, the faint scars from his the injury that left him half-blind marred his face. He was wearing his leathers, sitting in the armchair in her living room. None of that surprised him. It was the look on his face—the quiet little smile, and the slightly pleased look in his eyes. His shoulders were down, relaxed. He finally dragged his eyes off his face to spy the scone held lightly in his hand, and he shuddered as he remembered.

"Just before we left," he whispered. "Loz was being..."

"Cute," Lillian supplied when Yazoo trailed off. "He was being very cute. He almost always was, you were just too busy being eaten alive to notice."

"I had a lot on my mind," Yazoo muttered.

"I didn't say you were wrong," The woman said. He heard her walking over and turned towards her, blinking when he found her offering a cup of tea he hadn't heard her fixing.

"There are pictures of him too." she commented.

Yazoo lifted the cup carefully from her hands, not touching her as he did. He cradled the warm cup in his cold palms.

"It is somewhat less rare to see him smiling," he said, looking to a picture on the mantel of young Loz grinning up into the non-existent camera, his eyes crinkled in delight and his arm in a sling.

"He's so big now," Mama Strife sighed. "I'm proud of him, certainly, and it was good timing, but he was such a precious little thing. If he'd been full sized, I probably never would have given you two a chance. That would have been a real shame."

"I wouldn't have blamed you," Yazoo murmured, tilting his head and turning to face her, his hair swaying with the movement. "Should we worry about your neighbors?"

"Not this time," She said sweetly. "I've been working since you two left. I decided a change in location was needed. We're quite isolated, I'm afraid, except from those who know how to get here."

"Good," Yazoo muttered. "The real question, then, is whether or not we need to worry about Aerith."

"What you need to do," Mama Strife said with a scolding edge to her voice, "Is stop worrying and go sit down. You're exhausted. Let me do the worrying for a little while, you idiot."

"Idiot?" Yazoo repeated incredulously, giving Mama Strife a dark frown. "Lillian, I'm offended."

"You're about to fall over," She scolded, pointing a finger at him. "And I know you don't want me catching you."

Yazoo hesitated, then shook his head a little, though he moved over to the armchair slowly and stiffly. "I wouldn't mind. You helped me save my brothers. I would do anything for you for that alone, even if you hadn't saved us before that."

"You overestimate yourself," She chided mildly. "I have plenty of people to hug and snuggle, I'll have you know. I don't need to do it to you too. After all, Loz is just in the other room. And even if he does dwarf me now, I'm certain he wouldn't mind snuggles."

"He'll probably crave them even more," Yazoo hummed in agreement, sinking into the armchair. "He's looking alright, isn't he? Healing well?"

"He always is," she agreed, sitting near him, on the arm of the sofa so they could face each other. "He's embraced who he is and come into his own. He won't have any problems fixing himself up. You shouldn't either this time."

"I hardly even feel it," Yazoo murmured, curling up with his legs underneath him and leaning back in the chair, the mug of warm tea still held in his hands carefully. He let out a soft breath, closing his eyes. "It seems like I haven't taken a moment to sit down in years..."

"You fought hard." Lillian said.

"I nearly killed everyone." Yazoo murmured, yawning hugely and frowning at his traitorous body directly afterwards.

"Yes." Lillian said frankly, a faint frown on her lips.

"You're angry." Yazoo observed.

"Not at you," Lillian shook her head, waving a hand at him again, dismissing his words. "Aerith should have known better than to push you. To threaten Loz or Kadaj, much less both. You're a good heart, Yazoo, but I hold no doubt that you would tear this world down and everyone in it if it was to save them."

"At least you get it." Yazoo murmured softly.

"Hey," Loz's voice said from the doorway. "You still awake, Yaz?"

"For now," Yazoo glanced over towards his brother only to sigh and give up on looking at him when he realized that Loz was on his blind side. It seemed like much too much effort to turn.

"Do you think," Loz trailed off, and Yazoo's lips twitched into a smile, hearing the awkwardness in that low voice.

"Spit it out, brother." He muttered.

"Very rude." Mama Strife chided, clicking her tongue in disapproval.

"Do you think you'd like to come and stay with Kadaj and me?" Loz asked softly. "Mama said she'd keep us safe while we rested." Loz shifted stiffly into Yazoo's view, favoring his wounded leg and moving very carefully. "And you fought so hard, you have to be tired."

Yazoo let out a soft sigh, his eyes falling closed.

"Sorry," Loz murmured. "I didn't want to annoy you, just..."

"I'm not annoyed," Yazoo corrected, his voice breathy. "I'm exhausted."

"Oh," Loz murmured in surprise. Yazoo heard him limp over quietly, then found Loz's broad hand resting gently on his forehead. "You don't have a fever, so that's good..."

"Idiot," Yazoo muttered. "What would have made me sick?"

"Overexertion," Loz said bluntly. The hand left Yazoo's forehead and lifted the tea out of his limp hands. "Come on. I want to keep you close."

Yazoo squinted up at Loz and let a small smile cross his lips at the worry in Loz's gaze. If he hadn't already decided to go to the bedroom with him that look would have made up his mind. He shifted, rising stiffly, inch by inch.

"Sleep well," Lillian said, her voice filled with affection and warmth. "We'll talk when you're up again."

"Thanks, Mama," Loz said warmly. "For everything."

Yazoo hesitated, distant memory rising. He lost his breath a moment, remembering a being of anger wearing Sephiroth's face, snarling down at him. He turned back to Lillian from Loz, staring at the small woman in breathless memory. Her eyebrow lifted as he watched her, her fingers drumming uneasily on her lap as she waited for him to speak.

"Yazoo?" Loz asked, blinking at him.

"Thank you so much." Yazoo whispered as he stared at the woman.

"Like I said, there's nothing to thank me for." Lillian said, shaking her head.

"No," Yazoo said softly. "For that, but I meant for what you did to my clothes."

"To your clothes?" Lillian asked. "I haven't fixed them yet, you don't have to thank me for that till I'm done."

"I meant," Yazoo hesitated, letting out a slow breath. He averted his gaze, then steeled himself. "Jenova tried to break me. After we left here. She couldn't get through my clothes. She knew I was afraid of that more than anything, but she couldn't get through my clothes, and..."

"Oh Yazoo," Mama Strife whispered, her eyes wide as a shocked, sorrowful look crossed her face. "I was hoping you would never need that."

Yazoo ducked his chin, calming himself, then moved slowly away from Loz towards the woman. He hesitated a moment, his eyes lowered to Lillian's hands, watching them clasp each other. He shifted slowly and placed his hands down on top of hers. Her hands were warm compared to his. The touch was electric, but it didn't hurt. Her hands turned beneath his, carefully wrapping around his fingers to hold him back.

"Don't be sad," he murmured softly. "Thank you."

"No one is ever going to touch you again," Mama Strife said fiercely, her stubborn, sharp blue eyes lifting to him. "I'll see to it from here."

"I believe you," Yazoo murmured, leaning forward slowly to kiss her forehead.

"Go to bed," Mama Strife instructed. "Before I end up cuddling you to pieces. We'll have plenty of time to talk."

Yazoo squeezed her hands and straightened. Loz was waiting close behind him, his arms half outstretched as though to catch him. Yazoo didn't scold him for it. He just leaned against his brother's side quietly and headed towards bed.

"You okay?" Loz asked softly as they entered the room where Kadaj was lying.

Yazoo looked at his little brother's sleeping face, moving over slowly to sit beside him and brush the hair away from his eyes. Kadaj sighed softly and turned into the touch, a flicker of a smile crossing his pale lips. Yazoo lifted his eye to Loz, as his bigger brother sat beside him, yawning softly. Loz definitely looked exhausted, but he still had a warm and satisfied look on his face. Yazoo reached over and gave his hair a gentle ruffle.

"I'm just fine." He whispered.

* * *

"How are they?" Zack asked, ducking into the doorway.

"Everyone's still in one piece for now," Aerith said, her eyes intense on the pool of water that had appeared in the middle of the living room for them to watch the planet's surface through. "Kadaj is just separated from the others. You know he gets anxious when he's alone."

"Oh man," Zack let out a breath, raking his hand through his hair and shifting, his shoulders drooping. "When I got pinged I thought something really bad was up, like last time..."

"He's been lost for a while, poor little one." Lillian said softly, leaning forward on her couch to observe the hiding child. "Loz and Yazoo are looking for him, but they're still only young themselves."

Sephiroth stepped up beside Lillian, his good eye facing her and his black eyepatch a sharp contrast on the other side of his face. He quietly offered her a cup of tea in his good hand with a solemn, calm look on his face. She smiled lightly, lifting the cup of tea from his fingers.

"Thank you, dear," She said sweetly, patting his shoulder lightly before looking back to the pool.

Sephiroth sat silently at her side, enduring a gentle tousle of his hair by Zack as the enthusiastic man joined them.

"He'll be fine," Angeal said softly, his voice low and gruff as he dropped into the armchair nearby. "They're resourceful if nothing else. And we all know Yazoo and Loz will make it work no matter what life they're in."

Sephiroth chuckled with a low, pleased note, his lips curling into a smile. He spoke rarely despite regaining his tongue, and he often seemed distracted and distant. For now, his single eye was sharp as he watched Kadaj's reincarnation hiding away from passers by. Lillian fixed the twisted edge of the eyepatch she'd made for him with deft fingers, pulling out the hairs twined around it with the air of someone who had made the decision not to be intimidated in the slightest. Sephiroth didn't even twitch. He was more than used to her, after so long visiting his remnants when they were under her care.

"You're sure I can't help?" Aerith asked, wringing her hands lightly as she watched Kadaj shield his eyes to hide his tears. "He's only tiny, and I made things so difficult for him last time…"

The room chimed with a low vibration that made Sephiroth shudder and Angeal wince. Aerith just sighed and pouted, looking back to the pool.

"I take it that's a no," Zack said with a mild teasing note in his voice, perched on the arm of the sofa at Sephiroth's right side.

Aerith sighed, but nodded. "Apparently sending them back is all the atonement I get to do for what I've done to them."

"You're worse than Cloud." Zack drawled, rolling his eyes.

"I beg your pardon," Lillian said sharply, turning to face the young man and pointing at him sharply.

"Sorry Mama Strife," Zack muttered, cowed.

Sephiroth pressed back into the sofa a little, averting his eye and trying to pretend he hadn't been amused.

"They've already come a long way, though, haven't they." Angeal said in a soft rumble. "They're not the little fragments they once were.

"They were only fragments for a short while," Lillian scolded, standing with her tea to walk around the pool, looking up at her full mantlepiece and all the pictures that had joined the images of her beloved son. "They grew themselves into people quickly enough."

She looked over all of them one by one, calming her worry by reminding herself of their bond. The brothers sitting in a circle in her garden, sharing their stories bit by bit. She remembered watching Kadaj's reluctance slowly vanish, and his hands slowly finding purchase on both his brothers until they were all holding each other while they spoke.

There was a picture of Loz with the children they'd freed from the basement of the mansion. The Stigma victims had been held there so long it had taken a while for them to recover, but by the time this picture had come into existence, their dull eyes had brightened, and they were climbing on Loz as though he were a tree while the enormous remnant laughed loudly.

Her eyes hovered a moment on the picture of Yazoo splayed in the sunlight like a cat, his eyes closed lightly and a soft, contented smile on his face, like a big cat taking a nap. He wasn't in the picture, but Loz had been only a couple paces away, silently guarding his brother with a fond look in his eyes.

She looked away before tears could gather in her eyes. The next picture was of Kadaj and Zack, sitting on the bed where Kadaj had spent his recovery, speaking in low voices. The picture had captured the moment that Zack ruffled Kadaj's hair, forgiving him everything and apologizing himself. Kadaj's face sported the smallest of smiles, a tiny, heartbreaking hope flickering in his eyes.

Even Sephiroth was present in the images. She flicked a hair out of her face, looking over the picture of him sparring with Loz, the two of them trading confident smirks. They looked very handsome, she thought, shaking her head a little. It was still strange for her sometimes to see Loz as an adult, but he did match Sephiroth nicely. And she had to admit that she liked Sephiroth more with the stark eyepatch on his face than she ever had when he was all pale skin and silver hair. Especially when the maiming mark was paired with the look of relaxed pleasure on his face as he battled Loz playfully.

She stared at the final image on her mantelpiece. They'd all stood together, watching the remains of the mansion burn. With her concentration on it, the image moved, the mansion's flames bursting into realistic light, just as they had the first time. Yazoo and Loz stood with Kadaj between them, their arms around his shoulders. From behind, Lillian had seen Loz's hand rubbing Yazoo's shoulder in comfort even as he leant Kadaj his obvious support. Yazoo had leaned into the touch, turning his head just enough for Lillian to see the weary, troubled look on his face.

Sephiroth had joined them shortly afterwards, all their pale faces lit with golden red light from the flames, and the heated wind making their hair into soft silver banners, tinted with firelight. Zack was the first to break their little huddle, jumping in to grab Sephiroth's good hand, eager to be with his long-lost friend. Angeal and Aerith had followed, flanking their little crew, with Aerith holding Zack's hand, and Angeal crossing his arms at Loz's other side, watching the mansion burn.

From the lifestream's eyes, Lillian could see herself move forward—Could see Yazoo and Loz turn to look at her and smile, shifting to accept her into the middle of their huddle where she could kiss Kadaj's hair and pet her other two boy's shoulders.

She'd never meant to let them all so close, but she'd never stood a chance. Not with Kadaj's fragility and hopeful adoration. Not with Yazoo's skittish nature and hesitant trust. Not with Loz's whole-hearted affection and warmth. They'd been her boys from the moment she invited them to her home.

She glanced out her window to the trio of moon flowers twined together in her garden, and knew that would never change.

"Hey," Aerith said from behind her. "Wait. I'm pretty sure I know that alley he's in."

"Can we zoom out?" Zack asked, leaning forward to peer into the water.

"It's not a camera, Zachary," Angeal sighed.

"Maybe not," Aerith commented, "But I'm fairly sure we can still back up. Lillian, it's your house. Would you mind…?"

"For goodness sakes, you only had to ask," Lillian huffed, walking over and setting down her tea, lifting her hands over the pool of water that had taken the place of her coffee table and shifting her hands back until their view of Kadaj fell backwards, showing him from above.

They all went silent, staring down.

"Well," Sephiroth finally said, his voice low and rough with disuse, a wry smile crossing his face. "We certainly have less to worry about now."

A collective sigh of relief went up after the words, and the others relaxed, going about making themselves tea and snacks, satisfied that Kadaj would be well looked after as soon as he was found, which would no doubt be soon.

"Well, Lillian," Zack said softly, smiling his warm, happy smile. "Looks like your family will be looking out for each other."

Lillian smiled warmly in reply, nodding to herself and relaxing when Sephiroth's whole hand patted her back lightly in support. Down below them on the planet they'd left behind, the door to Seventh Heaven opened around the corner from Kadaj's reincarnation and a young woman with a brown ponytail stormed out, crossing her arms like her gruff father would and scowling petulantly at the sky.

* * *

Marlene swept downstairs in an absolute huff. She tossed her long braid over her shoulder as she went, scowling to herself.

"Marlene!" Called an exasperated voice from upstairs. "You can't just run away when you don't like what I'm saying!"

"I'm eighteen, Tifa!" Marlene called up instead of settling down. "I don't need you to mother me like this anymore!"

Cloud glanced up from the counter, lifting an eyebrow at her. Marlene shrugged it off.

"More arguments about the WRO?" Cloud asked softly.

"I don't get what the big deal is," Marlene snapped. "Everyone in the family is a fighter. I mean, when I was growing up they were teaching me how to be a terrorist!"

"It's different, seeing you grown," Cloud replied, his eyes glinting with a quiet contentment she'd never seen from him while she was younger. He still barely looked twenty four.

"Right," Marlene huffed, rolling her eyes. "I'm going out."

"Don't pester the Turks." Cloud said mildly, turning back to the paperwork he was ostensibly studying.

"Don't forget to put away the fake paperwork and finish your letter to your fan club!" Marlene teased right back.

"I don't write to my fan club!" Cloud called at her back, sounding mightily affronted.

Marlene laughed briefly as she headed to the door, but her mood darkened again, and she only barely restrained the urge to slam the door behind her. She didn't know why fighting with Tifa about joining the WRO got to her so much. Maybe because she'd expected for her dad to object, and for Tifa to support her. It had kind of gone the other way, with Barrett and Cloud reacting in pride, and Tifa swelling with protective fury.

Marlene sighed, shaking her head, and dropped to sit on the stoop outside Seventh Heaven. She liked sitting there. She could wait for Denzel to come home from his new job, and grouse at him before he got to hear Tifa's side of things. So far her childhood friend had stayed mostly out of it, not taking either of their sides. Cloud called it a sign of wisdom.

The street was empty. It was too early in the morning for anyone to be thinking about going out to their local bar district. She glanced up at the angel statue that stood near Seventh Heaven, and had to smile a little. When she moved out to join the regular army of the military, she would really miss this place. There was a lot of history here. A lot of good changes to remember.

A soft sob drew her attention. She looked quickly back to the street, glancing up and down. There was no one to be seen, but now that she was paying attention, she could hear quiet, snuffling breaths nearby. She stood swiftly, turning in a circle, looking for their source, before closing her eyes and listening. Cloud had been teaching her about tracking—about isolating her senses. In a matter of moments, the direction of the crying was easier to find. She turned to her left and followed it to the alley beside their little bar.

At first, it looked empty. Then a little shadow towards the back shifted. She watched tiny feet draw back behind the dumpster.

"Hey," Marlene called, keeping her voice quiet and concerned. "Is someone down there?"

A quiet, muffled whimper answered her. Definitely a child, she thought. She remembered being unable to stay quiet when she was afraid, no matter how hard she tried.

"It's okay," she called. "I'm not going to hurt you. My name is Marlene."

A moment passed, and then a little platinum blond boy peered out from around the edge of the dumpster at her. Marlene smiled warmly, crouching and holding a hand out to him.

"You alright?" she asked mildly.

It wasn't as normal to see orphans running around Edge as it had been when she was a girl, but there were still too many of them. This boy looked healthy, though. Well-fed, at least. He had a charming amount of baby-pudge still in his cheeks. A little part of her—the part she considered the grown-up auntie Marlene—wanted to pinch them.

"I'm lost," the boy whispered after a long moment, ducking back to hide from her again. "I got turned around. I'm so stupid..."

"Hey," Marlene whispered. "Don't cry. It happens. Can you tell me your address?"

"We just moved," The boy sniffled. "I don't remember. I went for a walk with my brothers, but I got distracted. Mother's going to be so mad..."

"I'm sure she won't be," Marlene soothed softly. "I bet she'll just be happy you're safe. Come on out, okay? You can sit with me on the front porch, and then when your family comes looking for you we'll be able to see them."

There was silence for a moment, then a soft sniffle. She watched the little boy slowly stand and shift awkwardly out of his hiding place, shuffling his feet. He wiped his sleeve over his teary face. She gave him an encouraging smile and held out her hands to him, waiting for him to come join her.

He edged closer slowly at first, then seemed to relax when he got a better look at her. He carefully took one of her hands in his own. She smiled when he squeezed her fingers lightly.

"Do you like hot cocoa?" She asked, squeezing his hand back. "You must be a little cold from being outside so long. I can ask my friend to make us some while we're waiting."

"Okay," the boy muttered, following her out of the alley, looking cowed and a little shy. "If that's alright. I'm not supposed to 'impose' on strangers… Mother says I shouldn't use my irresistible eyes for evil…"

Marlene grinned at him, leading him out to the doorway of Seventh Heaven. "Take a seat, okay?" she gestured to the stoop before cracking the door open.

"Cloud!" she called. "There's a lost kid out here! Will you make us some hot chocolates while we wait for his family?"

"A lost kid?" She saw him lift worried eyes, and smiled warmly at her dear friend and almost-father.

"He says his brothers will be looking for him. I was thinking waiting for them a while before going looking would be a good idea?"

Cloud met her gaze for a moment, then gave her a small smile of approval and a nod. "I'll bring hot cocoa then. Do you want me to sit with him?"

"Nah, I will," she said sweetly. "You and Tifa can join us if you want."

She slipped out of the door again, sitting on the stoop next to the kid. The little boy had wiped his face off while she was gone. He was still sniffling, but he'd calmed himself down. He looked up and down the street, obviously searching for his family's approach, as though they might show up at any moment.

"What's your name?" She asked softly, looking over at the blond child's worried face.

"Kenneth," he whispered, wiping his nose again with a sniffle, lifting his wide blue eyes to her. "What about you?"

"Marlene," She said mildly and gently. "You're very cute, Kenneth. You could be my friend Cloud's brother, you know. You look a lot like him."

Kenneth sniffled and smiled shyly at her. She ruffled his hair lightly, sticking her feet off the stoop and crossing them mildly.

"Someone order hot chocolate?" Cloud asked, opening the door neatly with two mugs of hot chocolate held in his free hand.

"Cloud, this is Kenneth," Marlene said as the little boy beside her jumped and turned wide blue eyes to Cloud. "He got a little lost on a walk with his brothers, so we're waiting for them to catch up."

"I see," Cloud nodded solemnly, crouching and offering the child the gently steaming cup of hot cocoa. "Don't worry, alright? We'll make sure you get home. Marlene here is a hero in the making. She'll make sure nothing bad happens to you."

Marlene smiled warmly with pride when she realized that Cloud wasn't joking. She tilted her head down and took her cup of cocoa from him.

"You're so weird," she muttered fondly.

"Have we met somewhere?" Cloud asked the little boy, tilting his head and looking him over. "Do your parents get deliveries often?"

"I don't think so?" Kenneth stared at Cloud out of his wide eyes, his hands wrapped around the mug, but his attention fully on the other blond. "But I know you…"

A smile twitched Cloud's lips and he stood, stretching and looking down the street. "A lot of people do. You two come in when it starts getting cold, okay? If your brothers haven't caught up by then we'll start looking. I know some people at the WRO who can help."

"Thanks," the little boy curled in on himself a little, lifting his sorrowful, worried gaze to the street again, watching for his brothers.

"Want to talk?" Marlene asked as Cloud walked back into their house, probably aiming to catch Tifa up on their latest rescue.

Kenneth shook his head silently, chewing on his lip.

"Okay. Drink up, alright? I'm sure they'll find you soon."

Denzel came home not long after, and gave Marlene and her new friend a funny look. He ducked past them into the house rather than interacting, and Marlene wasn't surprised. Denzel had grown into a kind and skilled young man, but kids weren't his thing. Not that they were her thing either. There was a reason she was looking into being a soldier and not a grade school teacher. But Kenneth needed her, so she'd be there for him.

He came back out only once, with fresh cups of hot chocolate for them both. He gave Marlene a strange look, glancing warily to Kenneth, but Marlene just rolled her eyes at him. He'd been spending way too much time with the Turks recently. She was starting to wonder if he was getting recruited.

"They'll come," Kenneth whispered into his new hot chocolate once they were alone, "right?"

"I'm sure they will." Marlene said softly. "I got separated from the people I loved when I was a little girl too, and they always came for me. Cloud and Tifa and my father and their friends—Even Denzel's helped me out of a few scrapes. Your family will always pull through, Kenneth."

"My real parents are dead, though," Kenneth whispered, lowering his head. "And our new parents are nice, but…"

"But it doesn't feel like a real family yet, right?" Marlene asked, shifting to lightly nudge the child with her shoulder. "I know that feeling. This isn't my first family either. Or Denzel's. It'll work out. And if you're ever in trouble, you know where we are now. We'll always help if you or your brothers are in trouble, okay? I'm sure things will get better soon."

Kenneth lifted his wide eyes to her, and a fragile smile broke out over his face. He nodded in understanding, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

"Thanks," he whispered, looking down to his mug again, swaying back and forth just a little, comforting himself. "I'm glad."

"Kenneth!" A voice down the street called urgently.

The child next to her stood up abruptly, and she caught his mug before he could drop it, smiling at the delighted look of shock on his face.

Two older boys were sprinting down the street towards them, the eldest of them just entering his teenage years, pimpled and broad in ways he would grow into soon, but for now just made him look younger and a little awkward. The middle brother was slender, and wore an eyepatch over his right eye, but he was leading the charge, sprinting full-tilt towards the little boy with an expression of equal parts fear and relief.

"You're okay!" The middle brother cried, sweeping Kenneth up in his arms and twirling him once before holding on tightly.

"We looked everywhere!" The bigger brother said with a hiccuping sob, clinging to both his siblings, lifting even the middle brother's feet off the ground with the strength of his hug.

"Mother and father are so worried!" The middle brother kissed Kenneth's face over and over, snuggling with him desperately. "We were all so worried! Are you alright?"

"I'm okay," Kenneth cried through his sobs, clinging to both of them. "Marlene took care of me, and gave me cocoa and looked after me while I waited!"

Both his brothers looked to her with grateful expressions. The middle brother hitched Kenneth higher in his arms and squeezed him lightly.

"Say bye for now," he said firmly. "We're taking you home."

"Bye, Marlene," Kenneth's grin was watery and there were tears streaming down his face, but his grin was of honest delight. "Thank you!"

"Come back any time," She said sweetly, shaking spilled hot chocolate off her hand and smiling at the trio. "Just don't be lost next time, okay?"

The middle brother started walking, chiding his younger sibling and kissing him in between his words. The eldest brother held still a moment, watching them go, then turned with serious eyes to Marlene, though the expression on his face was warm.

"Thank you," he said softly and seriously. "And I'm sorry."

"It was no trouble..." She murmured, confused by the sentiment as he turned away.

Cloud stepped out of the doorway behind her, smiling a little when he saw the trio heading down the street, the eldest brother jogging to catch up to the other two, wrapping an arm around the middle one's shoulders. The blond man stepped up beside Marlene, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Marlene watched the boys walk down the street, and took a deep breath. In the fading daylight, their hair looked silver. Their forms shifting in the shadows they walked through till she could have sworn that when Kenneth looked up at her over his brother's shoulder, his eyes shone a soft, beautiful green.

Cloud's hand tightened gently on her shoulder.

"Did you know?" Marlene asked softly.

"Not at first," Cloud responded softly. "I was wondering if you'd notice. Do you regret helping him?"

"Not in the slightest," Marlene replied, shaking her head firmly. "Everyone needs help now and then. Maybe things can be different this time."

"If they aren't?" Cloud asked, looking to her with a warm look in his calm blue eyes.

"Well then," Marlene rolled her shoulders back and straightened, giving him a sly smile of her own. "I guess the new age of heroes will have to handle it."

Cloud ruffled her hair gently, and the two of them turned back to watch the three figures as they were greeted by two taller ones. The mother and father of the reborn trio lifted their children into their arms and hugged them tightly in relief. Marlene looked up at the sky slowly, and smiled at the soft drops of rain falling from above them without a cloud in the sky.

"Thank you," She whispered to the sky. "I'm glad they got another chance."

She and Cloud walked inside together when the rain stopped. When Marlene closed the door behind herself, it felt like an ending. She was closing the door on the past, and all that was left was the future. She smiled to herself. There was a lot to look forward to.


End file.
